The Forbidden Fruit
by charley.vandra
Summary: How can something so beautiful came from something so destructive and merciless as war? When two people are thrust together in the heap of war, they create a friendship and bond so strong they question their destinies; worlds apart yet drawn so close at heart. Father Mulcahy/OC Extended Summary inside.
1. Welcome to Korea

**Extended Summary:** Amelia, 30, joins the army as a nurse for the sake and innocence of her younger sister. She doesn't want her sister to endure through the hardships and abuse Amelia lived through with her father, and wishes her sister to have a better life than she had. However Amelia faces many obstacles into getting shipped over to Korea. There are certain requires Amelia couldn't pass or complete and has to make a deal with a Colonel. But what can she give a man who has everything? but her body and soul?

When she arrives in Korea, she shuns herself away from everyone and puts up a shield protecting herself. However the unlikeliest of all friendships is born with the 4077th chaplain. They both find a happiness—a peace within each others company and become good friends. She feels safe and trusts him like no other person. And he feels like a normal human being and the collar doesn't stand in her way of treating him like any other different person. . . .

Then they are taken from each other. And only after this separation do they realize they need each other. . . . (and much, much more).

**Warning(s):** story contains explicit and graphic images, lots of blood, nudity, rape, kisses, suggestive language, swearing, and forbidden apple-biting. And as the story progresses, more tags will be added.

**Gene:** Romance, tragedy, angst, humor

**Setting:** around the last seasons. Like 9-10-11. I don't want to specify, just generalize. You'll be able to tell the time in the story. 1952-1953

**Characters involved**: Father Mulcahy (MC), B. J. Hunnicutt, Hawkeye Pierce, Margaret Houlihan, Col. Potter, Klinger . . . (well everybody)

**My OC's:** Amelia Ryan (MC) , Col. George. S. Turner, Mary Baker, Pvt. Andrew Rogers, and few other minor characters.

**Disclaimer:** This is a work of fanfiction using the realm and its characters of M*A*S*H, which is owned by Larry Gelbart (bless his soul). I claimed nothing but my original characters who are written above.

**Author's Notes:** As you can see this is a Father Mulcahy romance fic. But I just want to say I have complete respect for the his place as a priest. However, I may challenge it or push it to its limit. But you're probably wondering "Well this is a romance fic. Does the father fall in love or have relations?" And the answer is yes. It's no secret, but the way it happens and the emotions they go through is a secret. But I can assure you the father keeps his integrity as a priest. And if you have an opposite frame of mind on that, don't worry, the story is filled with saucy and steamy moments.

I have been very inspired to write my own Father Mulcahy fic. There are some very good ones in the romance gene for Father Mulcahy, but not that many, which is such a shame. Father Mulcahy is my favorite character and I feel I must share my love for him with this fic. So, my story begins with a flash forward. And this is one of my stories that I am really proud of. I have mapped this entire story out with a beginning, middle, and end.

So I hope you all enjoy and hope to get some feed back. Thanks.

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

FLASH FORWARD

_He pressed his lips, slightly parted, tongue peaking through his teeth, softly, yet eagerly against her plump, swollen ones. Upon the delicate touch of their wet and lush flesh, he pressed his lips harder into hers, beginning to lightly smother her mouth with soft feverish kisses. A heavy feeling of exited bliss erupted within his belly as he felt her kiss back with as much passion and ferocity as he did; however, after a few breathless and inseparable moments, he felt her hand push lightly against his chest. He slowly broke the kiss, eyes clouded with love and lust, and looked at her not hurt or offended, but understood her purpose to pull away._

_"I want you to do that to me again, . . . and again, and again, for so long our lips would fall from our faces . . . but," she brought her hand up to his cheek, beginning to careless it softly, her thumb grazing his lips, eagerly wanting to push her lips against his again; to smother him and to be smothered. "But you . . ." The words fell from her lips before she felt him press his finger gently against them, silencing her plead._

_"I have made my decision . . . And I will have no regrets. Should God be mad at a man for following his heart? To be happy? To have peace? . . . . I will love you, with all my burning passion and all my being, until the end of our days. . . ."_

_Their fiery and burning loins ached for each others passion. The tension was mounting in their bellies and with a final stare, they lunged into each others arms, caressing kissing, loving . . ._

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

Present Time—November 1952

Having packed all her belongings in a single, olive-green duffel bag, Amelia sat on the edge of the cot, slouching slightly at the waist, her elbows placed thoughtfully on her knees, her head bend and heavy against her neck. Her brown eyes held an airy death and inanimateness poise against the dimly lit and desolate room, and her usual pale complexion was considerately paler. Her brown waves were swept off her neck, tied up in a tangled heap of curls, knots, and cold sweat.

After a few moments, consumed in thought, she absentmindedly curled her fingers around a ring, linked along with the dog-tags around her neck, turning the ring about in her fingers. A feeling of regret and longing brought the ring forward, her eyes searching it for answers that could never be answered A feeling of hatred overcame her and she dropped it as if it sting her like a bee.

Sad tranquility possessed her again, however torn apart a few moments later as an impatient and masculine voice thundered across the barren room of polished concert and metal cots.

"A-ten-hut!"

Two dozen or so feet could be heard scrambling to their positions at the foot of their cots. Amelia however, at the sound of the man's command, took considerately longer to stand from her cot and into the issued position. She managed to step into position, put her hands behind her back, and stiffen as the commanding officer walked passed her, hands clasped behind his back, surveying and scrutinizing with a careful eye.

Colonel George S. Turner, the commanding officer of their company's unit of nurses. An older generation-traditionalist; a man of the strictest values and morals, however very corrupt in his way of action and obedience. He was a very intelligent man, although never flaunted it. He was a man of fifty or so, his hair and groomed beard as white as snow, his eyes a soft blue, yet very dominate. He was of medium build, very stout. He was a man with a thirsty appetite for the weak.

"Stand at, ease," he hollered over the unit of nurses. An instance response acted: almost immediately after the command, a dozen heads slouched and shoulders stooped, a long with a side step. The commanding officer took a relaxed position in the front of the room centered down the aisle, his hands behind back.

"Ladies. I'm proud to call you soldiers. . . . You've completed your required assessments and physical duties for the heap of battle. . . ."

The words of her commander slowly fell on deaf ears as Amelia become adsorbed with her thoughts again, her eyes became glazed and fixed on the cement floor below. She only caught a few words here and there, and didn't care if she heard them at all.

". . . basic training . . . when you get there. . . you may be just nurses but . . . . Godspeed on your journey to Korea . . . . Dismissed."

Amelia saw in a blur, a heap of nurses rushing past her, duffel-bags in hand, hurriedly leaving the compound. However, lost in her vacancy, she remained standing in the relax position, hands still behind her back, unable to bring herself out her daze. Finally her commanding officer, after seeing her standing there, staring off into space and having witnessed her withdrawn poise during his final speech, pulled himself in front of her.

Again, Amelia saw a figure blurred, yet stilled in front of her. Soon she realized the commanding officer had dismissed the nurses and was left alone with him. Upon that realization, she began to blink away the glaze that had formed on her eyes. A sudden fear raising in her heart.

The commanding officer's upper lip stiffened.

"Lieutenant Ryan," his voice thundered at her.

Amelia felt an overwhelming urge to roll her eyes, but shunned the idea as her commanding officer stuck his face within inches of her own. On more than one occasion had she and her commanding officer coral-ed, resulting in her relaxed and insolent responses to his commands. He treated in a crude manner—he often took advantage of her in the most vulnerable of ways. But he knew she couldn't or wouldn't do anything against him or report him to the higher authority. He knew she needed the money she would earn. More badly than to deny him. He knew her weakness. And used it to his advantage.

An instant swell of disgust pooled in her stomach; she had that feeling of wanting to vomit.

"Yes, George S. Turner," she replied causally, deliberately wanting to inflame his temper. "Lt. Amelia Ryan, reporting."

Colonel Turner smiled, amused with her stubborn temperament. It gave him pleasure to see her trying to subdue her disgust for him. And he liked her discomfort and to exercise his power over her.

"Uh, huh. . . . " he said, his eyes falling upon her neck. "Explain this." He had grabbed a fountain pen from his coat jacket pocket and inserted its tip into the ring around her neck. He pulled it forward, tilting the pen slightly before her chin. And when Amelia's jaw tightened, her brows and lips forming into a straight line, her commanding officer dropped the ring back around her neck and smiled. Her suppressed anger seemed to give him a sick satisfaction, and with a smug sneer he said:

"This goes against regulations; therefore, the ring must go. And I wouldn't mind taking it off that pretty little neck of yours." He brought his hand up and wrapped his sausage like fingers around her throat, his thumb messaging about in a circle. "I'd like to keep something of yours to remember you by. I am going to miss you and that sweet ass of yours."

Amelia sucked her cheek between her teeth and bite down, suppressing the urge to lash back at him. But Amelia trembling with an almost uncontrollable anger, her eyes fixed boldly upon his, said, but in such a faint and hushed whisper, that he had to lean forward to hear:

"Go fuck yourself."

Even in that hushed tone, it was dripping with such disgust and conviction, that it inspired such a rage in him that he tore off the beaded chain and threw it down to the floor, but not before taking the ring and clenching it tightly in his hand.

Amelia, surprised and trembling slightly at the madman before her, straightened herself stiff, her heart beating wildly in her chest, and with a sudden fear overcoming her, she remained silent. He was a strict, but quiet man—only speaking when unnecessary and only with the most diligent words. She had never seen his temper flare like this and turned as white as the snow falling outside when he approached her again. He appeared calm, yet was billowing with controlled anger underneath the surface. He stepped closer, his breath hot against her ear.

"You've been a thorn in my neck ever since you got here."

Amelia winced away hearing the chilling and harsh whisper against her ear. But she didn't dare to enrage his temper anymore and listened intently to his words.

"You have continuously questioned my judgement, disobeyed my authority, broken multiple regulations and defied protocols . . . " He stiffened his back, stepping closer to her body, his nose brushing her cheek. "If you were any other woman, your ass would have had been on a bus home." His eyes become fixated on her lips. "However, no man could pass up on your sweet little deal." His hands began sliding up her arms, stopping as he gripped them around her neck. "My end of the bargain has been for filled . . . I put your on a plane to Korea, even though you've failed your certain requirements. And you said, in return, I could have whatever I wanted. And considering you haven't anything I want, you have nothing but yourself to offer. . . .You must love that sisters of yours to have sold your soul to me."

"More like the devil," she hissed, her eyes becoming fixed on his.

"You begged me, didn't you" he said ignoring her comment, wounding her ego. "On hand and foot like a common whore! And what did you say? yes? You'd do anything if I got you on that plane . . . huh? That you needed the money to send home to your poor, little sister. Huh? You begged me to have compassion?...Do you take me as a fool? I expect to you to hold up your end of the bargain."

His eyes were weary with desire and hunger for flesh, and as he ascended upon her, it gave him considerable pleasure to see her surrender herself and obey him like a dog. He ordered her get on the cot and not utter a sound as he began unbuckling his belt loops.

Amelia had no choice but to obey—she surrendered her body to him and laid on her back. He came over her, his eyes feasting thirstfully on her body. He was quickly becoming aroused and pounced on her without another thought. In his haste of pleasure, he fumbled on her trouser buttons and zipper, but once he got them unfastened, he ripped her pants down around her ankles, promptly followed with her underwear.

Amelia clenched her eyes closed and forced her head to the side. Her skin crawled with disgust when he began panting and moaning horridly above her, her insides quivering violently making her want to vomit. Her heart beat wildly when he began thrusting inside her in quick feverish strides. After a few moments of slap-stick noises, the colonel, thrusting hard one more time, cried a billowing moan, emptying himself inside her.

Amelia pushed off the half-limp and sweaty man above her, and recoiled away, covering her exposed flesh, humiliated and shamed. She did not weep as she collected her clothes, every fiber in her body wanting—needing to wash every inch of her soiled skin.

"I'm going to miss you," he said coming up behind her and placing a tender kiss on the back of her neck. She winced away, facing him now, temper flaming.

"You're disgusting," she spat and picked up her duffel bag.

Her rage was arousing. He laughed dryly:

"Even that mouth of yours." He was quick—he snatched her chin up in his hand, pressing it roughly in his fingers, and brought her close to his face. She dropped the duffel bag, surprised at his quickness. "Where ever you shall be stationed, I shall come."

And with a harsh kiss, he pushed her away, her body hitting the metal cot.

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

Amelia, leaning her head against the freezing metal of the aircraft carrier transporting them to Korea, winced when the biting cold singed her temple, but she didn't withdraw. She was encouraging the pain as she pressed her forehead harder against the cold. She wanted to feel the pain and the reality it brought forth. She clenched her eyes closed, memories flooding her vision of her little sister left behind with their father; consequently, tasting blood in her mouth as she had bite down on her cheek, cringing at the horrible thoughts.

"Please don't leave me," cried her sister, pulling the sleeve of her arm, trying to hold back Amelia. "Please don't leave alone with him!"

Amelia stopped and pulled her little sister into a tight hug, but pulled away and keeled before her. "I know it seems like I am abandoning you, but I'm not. I'm doing this for you—for us. When I get back I promise I'll take you away from here, away from him. " Amelia wiped the tears from her sister's eyes. "But in order to do that I need you to be brave for me. To be strong—for the both of us. I can't do this without you. I love you, Nancy."

Amelia left her little sister, crying, at the door frame of their apartment. She promised herself she would never allow her sixteen year old sister to endure what she had.

"I promise," she whispered aloud, her cheeks flushed and her eyes gleaming in the darkness of the aircraft carrier. A quiet serene befell her, both soothing and calming her until it was broken moments later when an excited chatter arose in the carrier. Amelia shifted her head towards the front of the carrier seeing the other nurses crammed around a single port window, pointing and laughing out the plane.

"Look! We just came over Korea!"

"It's so pretty in the winter time."

"I can't wait to get to my new unit and for-fill my duty."

The chatter rose louder as they began commending themselves for their acts of bravery and courage to voluntary over seas and for-fill their civil duties. And especially more to the point: their were women.

One nurse hovered above all them, exclaimed, "I can't wait to get my first letter from my husband admitting he was wrong and says that taking care of Juliet was harder than he thought!" Laughter arose at the jab and another nurse shouted, "I can't wait to get back home and demand the respect my father owes me! Says I can't handle it! What's it look like I'm doing!" And another stood up, said, "I just want to service our good Lord and look after for our boys."

The nurse who said that blushed profusely as an even louder chatter broken out about boys.

"Soldiers boys!"

". . . Handsome, solider boys!"

" . . . Shirtless, soldiers boys!"

"Sweaty, shirtless soldier boys!"

"Whoooo!"

Their spirits were high and light, but Amelia turned away, knowing the words they spoke were none to describe the likes of war. She knew better and wasn't naive as the rest of them. Amelia knew that all too well as both her father and brother had served in WWII. . . . Her brother didn't return.

The mindless chatter continued, but died immediately when the plane came into turbulence. The nurses scrambled back into their seats, strapping themselves tightly in. Amelia pressed her forehead into cold steel again, closing her eyes as the pleasure hit. _If we make it through this . . ._

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

The aircraft carrier had landed at the Seoul Army base Headquarters just after dusk. A blizzard had swept over the night's sky from the West, engulfing the entire country in gusting winds of snow and ice, stopping all in and out-going traffic from the base.

The air was crisp and piercing as it filled Amelia's lungs, the bitter cold nipping at her flesh and sending an instant wave of pain down her throat. Clenching her jacket collar in her fingers, she pulled it tighter around her exposed neck, blocking out the blowing wind from invading underneath her coat. With one hand gripped around her duffle bag and the other around her jacket, Amelia set her head low and pushed her way through the blowing snow, struggling greatly against it. Visibly was next to none as she followed blurred figures into the base, just barely being able to stay up straight. However some of the smaller nurses couldn't push through the cutting wind and had to be helped.

"This is Korea's weather for ya!" shouted the man leading them into the compound. He held opened the door ushering the nurses in quickly. "Just wait until tomorrow when it's blue skies and green pastures. Ya, it'll throw ya for a loop."

Upon entering into the room just inside the compound, loud and spirited gasps escaped each nurses' mouth, including Amelia's, as an instant warmth came on them. The difference of temperatures between inside and outside was so profound, it shocked some of them into a shivering fit. They had only been intact with the wind for a few minutes and already red covered their cheeks and noses.

"Ladies, if you'll follow me, a cup of joe is waitin' for ya. Nasty stuff but you won't mind considering its hot and warm ya right up."

The man lead them through a series of hallways until they came into a large hanger much like an airport waiting room. There were chairs scattered here and there, a front desk, and various ranks of men and women waiting impatiently for the storm to blow over. One man of Major rank was screaming at the man behind the front desk, his hands planted firmly on the counter, leaning over, spitting in the poor clerk's face, of which he replied, "Sorry, sir, but there are no out-going traffic. If you'd just sit down and wait—"

"Wait!? Wait!? all I have been doing is waiting . . . " his voice trailed away as the man leading the nurses began speaking again.

"Alright, you're to wait here 'til the blizzard blows over. Then you'll be transferred out to your units. Coffee machines over there."

And with those final impersonal and inept words, he walked off, leaving the nurses to offend for themselves, alone and not knowing what to do. The nurses, terribly nervous and anxious after having experience the brutal weather, huddled together in the corner. However Amelia occupied a seat by herself, far away as possible from the nurses.

Terrible and gut-twisting feelings proceeded as the time passed, waiting for someone to relief their quiet sufferings, nervous anticipation hitting the lot of the nurses. An hour in of this waiting, a loud beeping sound erupted from the tele-com, alerting occupants of the base of an incoming message:

"Calling all nurses due to report to the 4077th M*A*S*H unit in the West hanger. Repeat. Calling all nurses due to report to the 4077th M*A*S*H unit in the West hanger. Lieutenants, Mary Baker, Zoey Benson, and Amelia Ryan. Departure is in ten minutes. Repeat. Departure is in ten minutes."

A tense-filled silence came over the room as the nurses exchanged glances, each one either relieved that it hadn't been their name called out or it was a dropping-feeling in their stomach as they were one of the names called out. And after this silence exchange happened, a loud chatter arose over the grouped nurses, whispering to each other, discussing the reasons why they were going to sent out in the blizzard.

Amelia frowned as she heard her name. 4077th? I'm to report to 8063rd. Amelia walked to the front desk, meeting the shifty clerk behind the desk. "I'm Lieutenant Amelia Ryan. There must be some mistake. I have my orders to report to the 8063rd, not the 4077th."

His eyes shifted uneasily about Amelia, bracing himself for the incoming insults, but when they didn't come, he relaxed in his chair and grabbed a clip board, scanning it quickly for her name.

"Nope," he said modestly, "Says here you're report to the front MASH unit, 4077th. Your orders were changed."

Amelia had an uneasy feeling in her stomach as she was already aware of who had changed her orders, but asked anyway.

"On whose authority."

He checked the chart again, replying after finding the correct paper, "A Col. George S. Turner."

"That bastard," she hissed to herself, then recoiled as the man behind desk stared at her. She turned away, her mind racing with anger. "That—"

Amelia caught a glimpse of the other two nurses who were also reporting to the 4077th walking to the West Hanger, and followed after them. She came up behind them, hearing one of them bicker complaints. A Zoey Benson, if Amelia remembered correctly. A fair-haired, golden skinned, twenty-something peppy girl. She had this poise of arrogance and pompousness that was an automatic eye roll.

"How could they even think to send us out in this weather," she exclaimed loudly, not caring of who heard her complaints.

The woman walking besides Lt. Benson was Mary Baker. Amelia remembered her from basic training as she had a need to become friends with everyone, as the good Catholic she was. Mary was young too, brown-haired, and very petite and fragile like. She had a hold of a cross in her trembling hands, chained along with her dog tags, silencing praying to herself, and ignoring the loud-mouth besides her.

"This is absolutely unacceptable," whined the blond again. "When I get to the commanding officer at the 4077th, I am going to give him a piece of my mind!"

Amelia kept quiet until they entered in the West hanger, a young soldier greeting them by the jeep.

"Hello, I'm Private Andrew Rogers. I'll be transporting you to the 4077th."

The soldier was modestly handsome—tall, lean, and young. And as soon as Zoey Benson set her eyes upon him, her mouth shut, her eyes and heart gleaming with instantaneous love, and hopped in the passenger seat, locking her hip against his. The boy smiled sheepishly and turned back to the wheel.

Amelia and Mary jumped in the back seat, stuffed along with the three duffel bags. However, Amelia thought, it'll keep us from bumping about on the road and act like a pillow for the long journey in the snow.

When the hangar door began to rise, a quiet awe came about on their faces as they set their eyes on the storm outside. Even the young solider silently gulped as he realized he was going to be responsible for the three souls in his care.

"On whose orders are we risking our lives for, going out in this blizzard?" asked Lt. Benson in the passenger seat.

The solider's cheeks flushed and turned to the blonde, replying, "Major Margaret Houlihan, Head nurse at the 4077th. They're in dire need of nurses. You see, two of their nurses caught pneumonia and had to been sent off to Tokyo General. They need you all immediately."

"For my country," she replied weakly, finally hitting her the reality of war—that it isn't some glorified phenomenon that gave one instant glory and gratification. No. It's life or death. The blonde shut her mouth, and they drove off into the snowy darkness.

The young soldier took his time, driving under controllable and comfortable speeds. Visibly was little to none. Their normal two hour trip would take them almost double. However the solider drove on, keeping the ride safe.

"Well ladies, we're about there. Just about seven or so miles. Gosh this trip sure has been fun."

The boy, throughout the duration of the trip, had grown from a boy into man as his passenger practically sat in his lap, teasing him. Only once or twice did he swerve on the account of his passenger's hand glide up his leg, but he was much too modest to complain. She'd whisper things in his ear and he'd either get really quiet with flushed cheeks or billow with laughter. She was sure giving him his full "solider-nurse experience."

However, the playful couple in front only made Mary Baker clench her cross tighter in her fingers, her lips moving in silence prayer. She would jump with sheer terror each time he'd swerve or even laugh.

Amelia eyes were dead and glazed over, watching the passing scenery of trees and hills as blurry figures. Everything was engulfed under a heavy blanket of snow, but that was even if she could see five feet from the jeep. Her mind was numb, wondering about helpless.

"So, uh, are you going to be staying over night at the 4077th?" Zoey Benson purred into the soldier's ear, her fingers trailing up his thigh. She giggled girlishly when he jumped, feeling an instant pleasure at the end of her fingers tips.

"Well," he sang, looking at her, taking his eyes from the road for a second.

A second too long . . .

His eyes shifted slowly back to the road, clouded with desire and lust, but his heart stopped at the sight in the road.

"It all had happened so fast," reported Amelia gravely, staring at the commanding officer of the 4077th, hands clasped in a ball front her, her head heavily against neck.

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

**Author's Note:** So that was the beginning of Amelia's story. I hope I've caught your interest and hope you send me some feedback. And I know the father wasn't in this chapter, but he will soon appear. Thanks for reading!

So, what was in the road? I am very happy to report chapter 2 is done, but awaiting editing.


	2. The Long Journey

FLASH FORWARD

_Lying beneath her hovering body, her hands beside his head and her knees besides his hips straddling his body, he cupped her neck in his hands, his thumbs lightly grazing over her lips, and pulled her closer to him, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. His heart fluttered when she moaned against his mouth and drew her hips against his, lightly grinding against them. He broke away, breathless and anxious: _

_"Be gentle with me, this is my first you know." His voice was airy and humorous and exclaimed between moans as she slide her hand below his stomach, her fingers teasing about the hemp line of his briefs._

_His heart fluttered again as he felt her giggle into this neck, light vibrations tickling his throat, her teeth nibbling against his raw and moist skin as she smiled into his neck. She pulled back slightly, just enough for their eyes to met, her lips lightly teasing his._

_"I don't know if I'll be able to promise that," said whispered teasingly, her voice low and enticing._

_He was unable to contain his passion anymore, captivated and completely in love with the women in his arms, pulled her lips to his again, capturing them in a passionate kiss. _

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

Eyes wide and terror-stricken, the solider gripped the steering wheel, whipping it sharply to the right, sending the jeep swirling into the ditch. The two driver side tires catch on the lip of the ditch and hurled the jeep, tires over roof. The jeep rolled and rolled down the hill, rolling five or six times, side over side until it abruptly smashed into a tree at the bottom of the hill.

A moment of quiet haze and dizziness reigned after the instant stop. Clarity left Amelia's mind, her eyes fogging and her mind swirling. Above all the pain in her body, she felt an overwhelming turning in her stomach, and turned over, vomiting the contents of her stomach, of which was mostly the horrible coffee she had at headquarters. After that, the pain quickly crept upon her: the horrible shooting pain in her neck, the inability to focus her eyes as they became more and more foggy, and her pounding head, of which she could feel the hot blood ooze from the gash atop of it, slightly blinding her in her right eye. Black started to engulf her vision and soon her mind closed. Amelia fell into the darkness. . . .

_"Come here! Now! . . . . AMELIA!"_

_Amelia, running up the stairs to her bedroom, turned her head, finding her father give chase after her. She was on the top step when she felt her feet swept from beneath her and she fell, her knee hitting the corner of the step, gashed and beginning to bleed as her father pulled her back down the steps. _

_"No! Papa! No!" she screamed as he dragged her down the stairs. Amelia scratched at anything she could grab, trying to stop him from dragging her away, but he was stronger as he ripped her hands from the railing. _

_"Amelia! . . . _Amelia. . . . Amelia?"

The screaming man slowly faded away. The voice become quieter and quieter, than frantic. Amelia could feel a stingy pain against her face and snapped her eyes open. Mary was hovering above her, slapping her face, gently at first, then frantically. She stopped when she saw her eyes peep open.

"Amelia! Oh, thank god you're alive. Wake up!"

Amelia, with the help of Mary, sat up, still very dizzy, but immediately realized they were sitting on the roof of the jeep, the seats above their heads. The first sense to come forward was of smell; she could smell a very pungent odor of vomit and winced away as it filled her lungs. She brought a tired hand to her face, smearing the blood from her face and eyes, and wiped it off on the front of her coat. Amelia turned to the woman besides her, tears and blood staining down her cheeks, her hands grabbing at the cross around her neck, and Amelia asked:

"Where, . . . where is Zoey and Rogers—" She had noticed, with the jeep being tipped on its roof, no one else but her and Mary in the vehicle, then she realized a sudden and immense feeling of cold. She turned to the front, her shifting eyes wearily up to the windshield. It was busted to pieces, but two obvious holes showed.

"I don't know," Mary cried. "I think they were thrown from the Jeep."

Amelia, startled at that thought, asked:

"How long have I been passed out?. . . since we crashed."

"Minutes."

The images of Lt. Benson and the soldier being thrown from the jeep and outside in the blizzard moved her into motion.

"You're not going out there are you!?" she wailed. ". . . You saw what was in the road didn't you? An ambush! _They're_ out there! Coming for us."

Amelia stopped momentarily to listen to her words, making the realization they had to act quickly and get away from the jeep as fast as possible. She awkwardly fumbled to find the door latch in the darkness, and when she opened it the wind catch the door and sent it flying open.

Upon the door opening, the wind instantaneously invaded the jeep. Amelia cried out loud in pain as the air began freezing the blood on her face. She was quick to rub off as much blood from her face, her gloves soaking with blood. But that didn't stop her. She fished around in the darkness of the jeep for the medical bag, against the frantic pleads of Mary, and leaving her alone by herself.

The air was even crisper and more piercing as it had been when they first arrived. Its was almost too cold for her to inhale, it sending shooting pains down her throat. The cold bit into her flesh with such strength she thought something was actually eating her alive. She couldn't see anything as she looked back and forth, trying to find Lt. Benson and Pvt. Rogers. With one hand gripped tightly around the medical bag and the other in front of her, making sure she wouldn't run into anything, Amelia pushed her way through the blowing snow, struggling greatly against it. She had no idea where she was going nor where they were, but she set off in front of the jeep. . . .

In the darkness she spied two black, blurry figures laying still and motionless in the snow. She came besides the first figure, her heart dropping upon the sight: Lt. Benson lay still, purple and blue as the cold crept down her skin and through her bones, bleed splashed everywhere about her body, her locks of golden hair sprawled about her face and the ground, highlighted with spattered blood, her throat slashed and mangled as she had been thrown through wield shield. She had bleed to death. A muffled cry escaped Amelia's lips as she realized she was dead, and was never getting up again. . .

Her attention was redirected at the second figure in the snow, moaning muffled cries and gargling sounds. She left the woman's side and came upon the soldier's. Amelia immediately noticed a twig had punched his rib cage, embedding itself into his lung. He laid in agonizing pain as he slowly suffocated and froze to death. Amelia keeled beside him, wanting to take a better look at his chest when he suddenly latched onto her arm.

"Help me, please, I—I—I," he stuttered, struggling frantically with his left lung unable to inflate with air. His hands clanged to her arms as he started to suffocate.

"I need you to relax. Your elevated heart rate is pumping the blood right out from you. . . . It's going to be alright, but you need to calm down."

Tears began screaming down his temples, "I never even kissed a girl, you know. Never been in love . . . now it's never gonna happen."

"Shh, don't talk like that." Amelia, realizing what was needed to be done, started rummaging through the bag, taking from it alcohol, gauze, tape, and scissors. "You're going to go back home, . . and find some girl to love and cherish, who'll love you back. . . . And you're spend the rests of your lives together—"

"Oh, fuck," she cried as she took off her gloves, the cold biting into her skin and knuckles, but she pushed the pain away and turned back to the boy. "You're going to make it through this, I promise . . .Okay, this is going to hurt, but we must hurry. If this was an ambush, _they're _coming, and we have to get out of here."

He nodded nervously, and clenched his eyes and jaw shut.

Amelia grabbed the scissors and cut his shirt open. He cried out through clenched teeth as the cold engulfed his exposed flesh and began freezing his blood.

"I'm sorry. We don't have time to drag you in the jeep—we must do it here."

Amelia, not wanting to prolong the pain any longer, poured the alcohol on to the twig and wound, meeting a screaming cry and thrashing body, but as the initial pain subsided, the soldier stilled, however he tried to control his shaking body.

"Mary! Get out here, I need your help!"

Amelia turned back, not expecting her to come at all.

"Alright, alright, calm down. I need you to be as still as possible."

Amelia clenched onto the twig between her finger, slightly bumping it, and listened to the boy scream. With no hesitant she clenched the twig tightly and pulled it from his chest. He screamed out and thrashed in pain, but Amelia straddled his trembling hips and quickly pour the rest of the alcohol on the small hole in his chest. Again, she listened to him scream in agony and every time he did, it made her want to work faster, freeing him from his pain.

Amelia dabbed the blood and alcohol from the wound and stuffed gauze into the hole and applied pressure . . . She watched with relief as his left lung began to rise and fall just as his right did. She wrapped the bandage tightly around his wound and proceeded to tape the bandage around his chest.

"Okay this will do until we can get you to the hospital."

She made a motion to leave, but he grabbed her hands, forcing her back down to him.

"Please, don't leave me please."

Amelia winced, an image of her little sister flashing before her eyes. She looked down at him, the soldiers crying and trembling at her feet. She knelt, like she did with her sister, and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly in her fingers.

"I'll be back before you can feel the warmth leave your fingers. I promise."

With those final and tragic words, Amelia struggled her way back to the Jeep.

"Mary! . . . Mary."

Amelia found her cowering against the side of the jeep, holding her crossing against her forehead, her hands trembling, her head buried in her knees. She jumped when the jeep door slammed against the side panel.

"Please don't hurt me," she screamed. But tears of relief came to her eyes as she found it was Amelia standing at the door.

"Mary, it's time to go."

She shook her head when she realized go, was to go outside, into the dark blizzard. "I can't," she cried. "I can't. I'm too afraid."

"Mary we have to go now," Amelia shouted, becoming easily frustrated with the crying woman, however she instantly soften, imagining her as her sister, crying and hiding, screaming about something their father did.

"No," she cried out again. "I'm not leaving the jeep. Someone will come for us."

Amelia silenced the crying nurse, pulling her tightly into her chest and shhing her quiet. She pulled away slightly, staring directly into your eyes.

"Listen to me. No one knows where we are. No one is coming for us. . . . And if it is the enemy out there, coming for us . . . They don't take woman as prisoners. . . They. Don't. Take. Woman. Prisoners! Do you understand Mary? They have other, more terrible uses for us. Pray to your God we don't get captured. Or you'll wish you would have died in the crash."

At the thought of that, Mary sobbed silencing in Amelia's arms.

"I'm not saying these things to scare you, but to make you realize you have a life worth living. Okay?"

"Okay," she sobbed defeated. Amelia moved away from her, fishing for her duffel bag in the dark. She found it and began throwing things out until she came to feel what she was looking for. She came to Mary and pulled her hood down. She wrapped the scarf she found over her neck, mouth, and her nose.

"I can't breathe," cried Mary, pulling down the scarf.

"You're not going to want to breathe the air; it'll lower your body temperature, and you'll develop hypothermia faster." She wrapped it tightly around her head, only a slice of skin and eyes peeking through the cloth.

"Ready?"

Mary nodded, yet still sobbed quietly.

Amelia wrapped an arm around her shoulders and forced her out into the storm, the wind immediately stopping Mary, but Amelia pushed her forward. She led her towards the figures on the ground, Pt. Rogers after Benson.

"Okay. Now, Rogers. He is still alive, barely. We need to get him to the hospital."

"Where's Zoey—"

Mary screamed terribly when she saw her body in the snow.

"Oh. My. God. she's dead! Shhhe's deeead!"

Amelia turned her away, blocking the sight from her vision and lead her away, to the soldier lying on the ground a few feet away.

"We can't just leave her," she cried. "She needs to be buried—"

"We must leave her, someone will come back . . . Mary, I need you to help me carry him."

Amelia fell to her knees and with the clothes she brought from her duffel bags, she began wrapping his head too, only his eyes peeking out from his coat. Amelia did the same thing except she only had a shirt left. She was still able to breathe the freezing air, but didn't complain as it shielded her face from the wind.

Amelia wrapped his arm around her shoulder and Mary mimicked her on his other side.

"Can you walk Rogers?"

He nodded faintly, and they began walking.

"How far are we away from the 4077th?"

"About five miles, " he answered weakly, his voice crackling as the brittle air singed his throat.

"Oh, my God, we'll never make it," cried Mary, the tears down her cheeks beginning to freeze into icicles.

"Yes we will. If I have to drag the two of you, I will."

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

"Where are my nurses!" cried a woman, pushing through the set of double doors leading into her commanding officer's office. "They were to report promptly at 0800 hours to me, for evaluation, then possibly orientation. . . ." The woman began pacing the small area in front of his desk. "It is now 2300 hours. Where are they!?"

"Margret be reasonable," appealed the commanding officer behind his desk patiently, though his temper was wearing thin as he struggled to keep the place lit. "How would you expect them to get here in these conditions? It's a blizzard out there."

"Oooh," she huffed, slightly defeated seeing the reality behind his words, but never-the-less shook her head. "They should have planned ahead. . . . Besides we're short-handed. How do they expect me to run a brigade of nurses if I haven't any nurses!"

"Alright, _alright_," he chided, holding his forehead in his hands. "Yelling at me isn't going to solve your problem Margret. Unless you know Father Snow, which I regrettably doubt—you'll just have to make due with the nurses you have."

"Oh, but Colonel Potter! Isn't there anything you could do? Make a phone call—get them here as soon as possible. We're in desperate need since two of my nurses were sent to Tokyo General—the nurses who remain are having to pull double and triple shifts! Its unacceptable."

"Unless you know Uncle Franklin, we've lost communication with headquarters. The damned wind is inferring with the signals. And as you can see, our back-up generator is barely working, on and off, so I'm afraid—"

"Oh, but Col—"

"Margret," he stood from his chair, and came around his desk, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I, for one, am in full appreciation of the hard work your nurses are performing under, especially with these miserable conditions. We certainly couldn't run these place with out them. But—until this storm blows after, there's nothing that can be done, but waiting, and let it be patiently waiting at that."

She nodded, defeated, and said, "And pray that the fighting subsides through the storm."

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

The storm had almost been too much. It had brought Amelia to her knees so many times she thought she had crawled much of the journey. Walking in the blizzard, wind constantly whipping at their faces, the snow blinding their sights, and the cold eating their skin raw, was almost too much. The soldier, feeling horribly guilty, shrugged off the support from the women, and walked a little of the ways, but it proved too much as he fell into the snow. Mary was stumbling about into a jabbed line, the wind overbearing her, so Amelia told her to grabbed a hold of her coat and to not let go. Amelia picked up the solider from the ground, unable to carry himself, and threw him over her shoulder, and continued down the road.

"Just follow the road," the solider had said. "Its straight down this road."

Five simple miles turned into an eternity of pain. Amelia had hit her head some time in the crash, and as she struggled against the elements, it worn her out easily. Her strength and adrenaline were worn away, but every time she'd stumbled into the snow, wanting nothing more than to shut her eyes and surrender to the cold, she had to remind herself why she was here. . . .who was counting on her back home. . . . The images of her father taking care of Nancy forced her to stand and push through her agony.

She could feel her mind starting to sway with haze. Every few minutes she had to lay the solider down to rest and check his vitals His pulse was weak, but strong enough she knew he'd make it. Mary had clasped besides her, curling herself into a ball, shielding herself behind Amelia. She was exhausted and has no strength left. Amelia wanted to rest, she needed to. She closed her eyes, surroundings to the darkness.

Amelia considered running ahead without them, but had not idea how far they were, and didn't want to leave them behind. Then she saw it.

A flickering of light in the distance, then it went black again and lost in the flurry of the storm. An excitement surged through her body and she jumped up. She shook Mary and told her they were almost there, a half mile or so off, but she didn't stir. Amelia quickly check her pulse: weak, barely beating.

Amelia panicked; both Mary and the solider lay still, inanimateness in the snow, darkness becoming their vision. A sled flashed in her mind. Amelia rolled the solider beside Mary, and grabbed the hood of their coats, and began dragging them. The initial pull was hard as the friction between their coats and the slushy snow made it difficulty, but pure adrenaline was raging her veins. Her mind easily became light and high, but she forced the pain away and pulled them along the snow.

She pulled and pulled and didn't dare to stop, in fear she wouldn't be able to find the strength to start again. Her arms ached, her legs weak and sore, her head pounding and dizzy, her face lightly frostbite, but she continued to pull and to her joy, her eyes set upon a large sign, "4077th" painted on it.

Another burst of energy surged through her body and she dragged the two lifeless bodies in the middle for the compound. Pure adrenaline was racing through her veins again. She released their hoods, staggering back as she no longer had the weight on her back. She crawled, her legs no longer abling her stand, to the first structure she saw. With one last burst of strength she hoisted herself up and burst the door. She was met by groans and shouts to "shut the door!"

Her vision was clouding with black as she stumbled back against the door, the abrupt noise finally bringing the attention of the occupations forward. However one was very angry and turned with a mouth full of words, however shut his mouth as he set his eyes upon her: her face was covered in both frozen and freshly oozing blood, her entire body was trembling, covered in blood from head to foot. And finally she broken the silence with a quiet plead:

"I need a doctor. I have another unconscious soldier outside with a punctured lungs and a nurse whose also fallen unconscious. Both coming into mild hypothermia."

"Oh, my God," exhaled one of them, eyes wide and stunned. And with a whoosh of fabric, the men bolted from the tent to purple and red bodies outside.

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

Yes, that was him. :) Okay so finally, after a long journey, Amelia has arrived at the 4077th. . . . And I want to thank the two reviews I received one the first chapter. Its was really awesome and a great feeling to get some feedback. Thanks so much! And chapter 3 and 4 are completed, but they are very,very rough. Needs a lot of attention. So an update is around the corner. Again, don't worry Father Mulcahy is really 'helpful' in the next chapter. You'll see a lot of him. Well thanks for reading! And send me some feedback! Thanks!


	3. Blood and Coffee

FLASH FORWARD

_He curled himself along her sleeping body, nuzzling his face in the soft crook her neck, his nose burrowing in the sweet scent of her chocolate hair. He entwined his legs with hers and pulled himself closer as he wrapped his arm around her waist._

_He couldn't sleep. In his arms slept the most beautiful woman he'd ever saw._

_His fingers slide delicately about her arm, lightly drawing circles against her skin. He smiled into her neck as she shivered against him and moved her body closer to his. He felt her skin prickled and goose-bump underneath his touch as he continued to slide his hand lightly against the smooth curvature of her waist. She shivered again as his hand ventured about her hip, a soft moan escaping her lips._

_"You're so beautiful," he whispered into her hair. She slightly stirred against him, but didn't wake. "I am truly at peace while you're in my arms." He pressed a light kiss on the nape of her neck, the heat from his breath tickling her awake. She rolled over, her eyes meeting his._

_"I love you, too," she whispered and captured his bottom lip between hers, sucking it lightly. She did the same with his upper lip and then his chin, and his neck, and his collar-bone, and until he couldn't take it any longer and pulled her back into his arms. She nuzzled her face into his neck and fell back sleep in his arms. He looked down upon his sleeping beauty:_

_"I never want to let you go . . . you're my everything now."_

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

Their initial reaction to stepping outside into the blinding blizzard was to retreat back into their cold tent, underneath their cold blankets, and back into their false hopes of warmth. The minuscule warmth that did cling to their bodies immediately left them having been replaced by the biting cold as they fell out the door.

Five men stumbled outside, grabbing about their coats and hats, pulling or lapping the cloth over their exposed skin. But as their sights came upon the two blurry figures, stilled, lying in the snow, the woman hovering over them, they lept into motion, forgetting about the cold and the pain it brought.

"Lets get them inside!" yelled one of them, trying to be heard over the blowing winds. Two and two they picked up the lifeless bodies and carried them into the next building. The remaining man wrapped his arm firmly around Amelia's back, steadying her swaying body.

Upon entering into the structure, a loud but exhausted gasp escaped Amelia's throat as an instant warmth overcame her, however a few moments into the sensation, the sudden change in temperature brought her weak in the knees and into an uncontrollable shivering fit. Her face, fingers, and toes stung with a thousand hot needles, bringing about a horrible silence cry. She could feel the arm around her tighten with sympathy as she kept her pain silently to herself.

Now that she was in the light, her appearance was in full appreciation. The men looked at about her sympathetically and terrified.

She started to peel off the frozen shirt that had shielded her face from the winds and an almost instant dizziness came upon her, having had the warm air fill her lungs and head. Her legs gave out and if the man hadn't been holding her, catching her in his arms, she would have been on the floor.

"Easy, . . . easy," he soothed as he watched her try to stand again. "You're safe now."

A dark-haired man, very slender and tall, carried the solider through a set of double swaying doors in the operating room along with a balding plump man, who was moaning and groaning about how he could be home, nestled underneath a warm blanket next to the— The slender man told him to shut it and help him prep. Amelia, with the help of the man, followed after the two men carrying Mary. They came into a room full of sleeping soldiers, injured and re-cooperating.

The man, with a snow-covered mustache, yelled: "Klinger find two spare cots and a bag of . . . " he began fishing about Mary's coat and layers for her dog tags when he noticed she had a hold of them in her hand. He pried them from her cold fingers, a wave of pity coming over him when he realized she had been clenching tightly to a cross. What horrors had they faced, he thought. He shook his thoughts away, searching the tags over. "AB Positive. Bring me a bag of AB positive."

"AB positive," the hairy man repeated back, ensuring he heard correctly and that he understood correctly. "On it, sir."

The mustached man was moving frantically about, yet with skilled experienced and ease. He was shouting orders at nurses to get things and help him with the woman. Upon entering the post-op he had yelled for immediate attention with Mary and for Amelia, if she was alright enough, to wait until he get a grip on the unconscious nurse's condition. Amelia had nodded, though faintly, and stood back in the arm of the man standing beside her.

"Is she going to be alright?" asked the man with his arm wrapped around Amelia's shoulders, having seen the flurry of searching and sadness come over his friend's face. The mustached man sighed heavily, momentarily closing his eyes, his hands combing his hair back in a frustrated manner. But it was only for moments as Klinger and a few other services men and nurses arrived with blood and cots.

Amelia shifted her eyes over Mary being thrown into a cot, her bloodied coat and layers being ripped off her body and getting replaced with a fresh uniform, followed by being packed down with several heater blankets and packs. Just awoken and groggy nurses swarmed around Mary, checking vitals and symptoms.

Upon realizing Mary was getting taken care of, Amelia shifted her heavy eyes to the man holding her. He had fair hair peeking out from his hat, slightly fogged circular glasses, and a look of sheer worry and concern for the woman lying on the cot. He wasn't noticing her eyes roaming about him lazily until a sudden dizziness overcame her again and her knees buckles slightly beneath her. The fair-haired man easily catch her in his arms, and steadied her against him.

The man's eyes were frantically moving about her face; her eyes were heavy and blood-shot, her lips cracked and peeling, her entire face painted red, covered with her blood.

"Have strength, my child," he mumbled lightly against her cheek, as she leaned into the hugging embrace, her cheek of blood smearing across his. When he felt her full weight against him, his arms went around her, one hand on her back and the other lightly clenched around her hair and neck, trying himself not fall over and steady both of them. He slightly stumbled a few paces back, but managed to keep a hold of her.

Amelia was beginning to see darkness encroach around her vision, her head swaying lightly to and fro like she'd just spun around in a circle and now was feeling the after effects of dizziness. She knew she mustn't welcome the darkness, but as she embraced the man, a pleasure surge engulfed her body and she invited the darkness. She let out a pleasure-filled moan, muffled against his coat, and she clenched his body tighter. However moments after closing her eyes, her mind closing, she felt him push her away and felt something warm cover her cheeks.

She peeped her eyes opened, focusing them on the man before her face. His palms were covering her cheeks, slipping about from the fresh oozing blood and his lips were moving, saying something, but her mind couldn't make sense of his words. He appeared terrified, his eyes roaming frantically about her face again, but this time he pulled down her hood finding the bleeding gash on her head.

The man hadn't known what possessed him to cup her face in his hands, but assumed it was out fear for the woman's life. He'd seen many bleeding soldiers, but never a woman in this condition. It put the most terrifying feeling in his chest.

"Ah, B.J., you might want to see to this. Now."

"Nurse," shouted the man with the mustache, glancing at him and Amelia, having heard the nervous pitch in his voice. "Get the rest of the heater blankets on Lt. Baker, wrap her up, get her warm. And get extra blankets for—" He looked to her woman being held up by his friend, who was looking back at him anxiously. "Jane Doe. And get her fresh pair of scrubs."

B.J. came over to her, lightly pushing the other man out of his way. Amelia immediately felt the man's arms leave her body and swayed a bit before the doctor grabbed her arm.

"Oh, I can get the blankets," he said awkwardly, having been pushed away from Amelia and no longer felt useful. The man sprung into action. Amelia's eyes had lingered on the fair-haired man as he was pushed aide, face betraying humiliation and desperation. Her eyes followed him as he took off in the direction—

"Hey," said the man with the mustache, seeing her swaying lightly about. "How many fingers to you see?"

Amelia, blanking rapidly, trying to focus her blurry eyes against the sudden bright light being directed at her, answered, "Three."

"Good," he said and pressed his fingers gently about her head. "You hit it pretty hard. . . . Do you feel lighted head? Dizzy? Sleepy?"

Amelia managed to shrug her shoulders, and reply, "Just worry about . . . the lieutenant and the solider."

"We have them covered, however that gash on your head looks pretty nasty. . . Klinger go wake the colonel . . . and the major."

"You know you're sending me to certain death, right?"

"Klinger!"

The hairy man mumbled something underneath his breath and left.

The fair-haired man and the nurses had quickly returned with the blankets and wrapped the lieutenant and her with them. Amelia, upon having the blanket placed on her shoulders, grabbed the ends and pulled them tightly around her body. She had stop shaking, but the cold still chilled deeply within her bones.

"Here," B.J. said and wrapped an arm around her shoulders and began leading her into the next room.

"I think I am going to stay here with Lieutenant Baker," said the man with fair hair, directing it at the with the man with the mustache. The man holding onto Amelia nodded without turning around and continued leading her. Amelia turned her head, watching the man's face filled with sadness.

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

Amelia, following the doctor's instructions, sat on the table-bed in the small room with the x-ray machine and the place where they made casts. She relaxed heavily against it feeling the pleasure she felt having her weight off her feet again. She relished the idea of sleep, but the doctor had said she was more than liking suffering from a confession and needed to stay awake for as long as possible. Amelia hated the idea, but none-the-less she would comply no matter how difficult it would be.

After a few minutes the doctor had gathered all the necessary items and came back to Amelia. He began dabbing the blood when the doors burst open with a grumpy looking man and agitated woman.

"What in tar-nations is all the ca-motion? . . . Oh." His eyes shifted over the bleeding woman, his face and voice immediately softening. "What's happened."

After a few minutes of relaxed ease, Amelia started to feel her head sway and become light-head again. She placed her hand on the doctor's arm to make him aware of her condition.

"Dizzy?"

Amelia nodded faintly, her eyes blinking heavily. She appeared utterly exhausted.

"Hey," B.J said snapping his fingers in front of her face. It startled her, her eyes blinking rapidly, her body jolted awake. He turned to the woman and man standing in the door way. "She was in accident. Her, and another nurse, and a solider."

"Twoothernurses—" mumbled Amelia, struggling against exhaustion.

"Hmm?"

"What'd she say?"

"Two," Amelia pronounced clearly, annoyed. "Two other nurses, were with me."

"Then where's the other nurse? Only Lt. Mary Baker was with you."

After a few moments of her silence and avoiding his eye contact, he understood and nodded. As did the man and woman standing in the door way. He sighed, and asked in a demanding tone:

"Why in hell were you out there in the first place!?"

The question was reportorial, and meant to blow off some frustration, however Amelia answered spitefully:

"Major. Margret. Houli—" she winced as the doctor applied a sponge soaked with alcohol to her gash. She breathed through her teeth, and exhaled the pain away.

"Sorry. There's only so much gentle one can be with pure alcohol," he said playfully, trying to lighten the tension of the situation.

"Exxxcuse me?" said the woman by the door, her voice vexed and bitter.

Amelia scrounged her brows together, a raising and defensive angry boiling in her stomach. _So, she's the one who forced us out in the blizzard? _Amelia forced her head from B.J.'s grasp, turning it towards the woman and the man by the door, her eyes glaring back with as much ferocity as the woman's. The woman's face was bustling with emotion, unable to control her boiling temper. However Amelia remained calm and collected, not allowing her emotions to show on her face.

"I will not be subjected to such tones and accusations, . . . especially from inferior officers like yourself, and more so, from an infant ranking officer who hasn't been in this war for less than two minutes. . . . . I will not be talked down to or about! . . . . Why am even explaining myself to you. . . you're—you're nothing."

"Margret!?" B.J said lightly, perplexed at the scene unfolding before his eyes. "She only said your name. That's not enough to rip her a new one."

"Yes! But it's the _way_ she said it."

B.J. could feel Amelia's muscles tense against his hands and he was sure if he hadn't had his fingers in her head, Amelia would have lept off the table.

"Besides," she said, still raging with anger. "Maybe if your driver could have kept better control of his vehicle, you could have avoided the accident all together."

Amelia narrowed her eyes on the woman, unbelieving of the presumptuousness and bitterness of her comment. Amelia recoiled and striked back. "And maybe if you weren't such a nagging bitch, Lt. Benson would still have her life right now."

A loud and slow vigorous gasp escaped the major's mouth as she drew away from Amelia, her mouth in the shape of a large o. "How dare you! speak to me like that!—Colonel are you going to let her speak to me like that!?"

"Margret," chided the colonel, stiffening erect. "She's just been in a terrible accident—she's hit her head—she doesn't know what she's saying."

"You're defending her!?" she cried, her hands finding her hips. She was now shooting daggers at the colonel. The colonel looked at B.J., wondering how the conversation turned against him. Amelia broken the tense silence.

"Colonel Potter? Is it?" She waited until both the major and colonel were looking at her to continue. "I know you're trying to defend me, but I want it clear that, this is the direct fault of the major."

Margaret gasped again, and looked at the Colonel "You can't let her speak to me like that!?"

Col potter looked sternly toward the bleeding woman on the table. "The major's is correct. I will not allow you speak your superior officer like that, however seeing the condition you're it, I will forgive and forget all that has been said . . . Margaret maybe you should see if Hawkeye or Winchester needs any help."

Margret narrowed her eyes on the colonel both surprised and upset with his remarks. She knew he was just trying to alleviate the tense, but her anger and jealousy were blinding her mind. _He's siding with Amelia._ She turned from the colonel to Amelia, who was already staring back at her. After a few violate moments, she huffed out of there.

Both the colonel and B.J. knew "siding" with Amelia was going to serious repercussions affecting her later on. Margret would hereafter have a hostile attitude for the lieutenant, especially leaving the discussion so heated and un-resolved. Margaret wasn't one to easily forgive or to forget.

"You've just caused yourself a whole heap of unnecessary trouble," he said sternly, and after a few moments sighed. "Now what's your name, missy? "

"Amelia, . . . . Lieutenant, Amelia Ryan."

"Ryan? I don't remember seeing your name on the roster. We were expecting a," he looked up into air, as if the answers were written on the ceiling. "A, Mary Baker and Zoey Benson."

"Baker's in Post-Op," answered B.J. for Amelia.

"And Benson? . . .Oh, right. Sorry," he said remembering her remarks about 'two other nurses'. "Well we can't take any measures to find her until this storm's blown over. I'll have to inform Father Mulcahy about this. . . And you? What are you doing here?"

At the general mention of 'how' she became to be here, having to think about Colonel George S. Turner, Amelia sucked her cheek between her teeth and bite down, suppressing the surge to scream and fighting the urge to show any disgust or a hint of the truth. She thought carefully about how to word her explanation in the simplest way.

"My orders were changed, from the 8063rd to the 4077th, quite recently."

"I should have been notified immediately if there has been a personal change. How recently were your orders changed."

Amelia shrugged her shoulders, trying to appear as confused and un-ware as the possible. "Within hours. Five or six?"

"Five or six?" he repeated. "That's impossible. That's too fast for all the hands an order has to pass through . . . something not right. Say, who authorized the change?"

Amelia could feel the heat in her cheeks and her heart begin to beat. She didn't like where this conversation could be heading, especially considering it could reveal her comings and dealings to get into Korea.

She was just about to have to explain herself when the double doors, by the colonel, opened and hit him in the back. He was going to cuss the person out, however mumbled words under his breath as he realization who had hit him. The man had been carrying two cups of coffee in his hands, pushing the door open with his back, not paying attention. Amelia had never been so relieved for a man to interrupt her.

"Ooo, Padre."

"Oh, Colonel I'm terribly sorry."

The colonel waved off his apology, lightly rubbing his shoulder and back, the room filling with a tense silence.

"Have I interrupted something?" asked the man with the coffees.

"Oh, no, besides I need to scrub. Colonel Potter, can I talk to you, outside? . . . Here, hold this against your head," he said turning to Amelia "I'll be back in a few minutes and I'll get ya stitched up."

With the conversation diverting away from her and her orders, Amelia's eyes became glazed and fixed on the cement floor below, her mind closing to the people in her surroundings. She remained adsorbed in thought, lost in a quiet and inviting vacancy, until she felt a stinging pain on her head, and snapped out of her trance. The doctor had released the pressure he was exerting on her gash and remarked for her to hold it herself. Amelia nodded faintly and pressed the cloth against her head, an immediate struggle to hold her arm up as she watched the doctor and the colonel disappear.

"Here, let me help you," offered the man with the coffees, except upon seeing her so completely lost and barely aware of B.J. instructions, he had set down the coffees and came over to her. Without a reply, he gently took the cloth from her fingers and pressed it over lightly over the gash. Amelia felt an immediate relief, both, having her arm down and the pressure re-applied to her wound. With her eyes closed, relishing in the pleasure, she inhaled slowly and exhaled a moan.

"Better?"

"Extensively," she sighed, bringing up her hand up to her forehead and running a tired hand through her hair, her eyes remaining closed. She could felt his muscles tense and un-tense as he stood beside her. His continuously shifting, fidgety body making her aware of his nervousness being near her. Except she didn't understand why.

Silence fell over them, as both Amelia or the man remained quiet.

The man's mouthed opened many times, wanting to say something, to break the silence, but his thoughts wouldn't vocalize. His brows came together, a look of confusion on his face as he couldn't make sense of his own hesitant and inability to talk to her. Why had he'd suddenly become so shy? and quiet. He was certainly in no way afraid or shy to talk to people as it was his forte. However it broke a moment later as the man remembered his original intent of coming by.

"Oh, here," he said, grabbing one of the coffees with his free hand. "I thought you could use it after what you've been through."

Amelia opened her eyes and shifted her gaze to the man and his out-stretched hand. Remembering the awful coffee at headquarter then vomiting it up in the jeep, Amelia was almost too hesitant and disgusted to accept it, but she knew it'd keep her alert and away from the cloudy darkness forming at the gates in her mind. She sighed and accepted the cup.

"It's awful," he said watching her breathe and winch slightly away from it, a small frown across his lips. Amelia met his eyes, gravely and tired, but with a glint of smirk across her lips. He thought it odd considering the circumstances, but it seemed to stop him momentarily as she stared at him. " . . . but none-the-less an inviting and warm sensation in your stomach. Just try to not breath."

He seemed like a kind man, however rather awkward and out of place. Having watched the interaction with him and his co-workers, it put the slightliest glint in her eye.

"I'm Amelia," she said, weakly out-stretching her hand. He accepted it awkwardly, smiled kindly awkwardly, and remained standing there awkwardly. After a few moments he realized he had forgotten to introduce himself.

"Oh, I'm Francis John—"

"Okay, Amelia, I'm wanna stitch up in the operating room. Let's go," interrupted B.J coming through the door.

Amelia remained looking at fair-haired man, even when his attention shifted the doctor at the door. A sad expression became his face, and Amelia didn't understand why. She frowned and said to him as he turned back to her, "Thanks for the coffee Johnny."

The man stood, lightly stunned upon hearing his given name be spoken, and to be his nickname, only said from his most beloved ones. It had been a long time since he heard it. And it perplexed him considerately when he didn't correct her and say, 'It's Father Mulcahy, actually.'

Amelia nodded faintly at the doctor in the door and went about sliding off the table, but her legs proved to be too weak stand anymore and she stumbled into Johnny's arms.

"Easy there," he said, balancing her back on to her feet, his hands on her hips quickly changing to her arms.

"Could you, uh, help me lead her into the operating room. My hands are already scrubbed."

"Of course B.J.," he replied and stepped beside her.

Amelia wrapped her arm around his back, underneath his arms, forcing him to do the same. He looked hesitant of the position, but none-the-less tighten his hold on her and helped lead her into the operating room.

They pushed through a set of double doors, sanitation agents instantly burning her nostrils and throat, but Amelia pushed that agitation away, and tried to focus her attention about the room.

"Would you stop complaining already, you're giving my ears a margin . . ." chided the slender man with black hair, and directed his attention to the people coming through the door, seeing the bloodied woman being helped onto the surgical table.

"How's your girl doing B.J.?" He could clearly see she was about to pass out. "Why don't you give her something?"

"She's suffering a concession. I don't want to give her anything to sleep until we get some x-rays and can monitor her vitals, just to be sure. Don't want to risk anything."

"She looks awful. What the hell happened!? All I know is this boy is lucky to be alive. Who ever bandaged this kid up saved his life."

"Thanks . . ."

"Ah, so the creature is awake?"

The woman besides him, aiding him snorted. "Good one Pierce."

"Hmmm? Am I sensing some hostility here?"

"I'll tell ya later. " B.J. said looking between Margaret's daggers and Hawkeye's puppy eyes. "How's your boy doing?"

"He'll be fine . . . such an unusual problem. I keep pulling out twig splinters. It was as if he was shot will a wood bullet."

"He was, kind-of," B.J. remarked, having now Amelia prepped on the table and administrating the numbing agent on her gash. "A twig had punctured his lung."

"How in the hell did that happen?"

Amelia forced her head from B.J. grasp again, her eyes pointed at the man named Hawkeye. And he saw her raising anger.

"Hawkeye don't anger the patient. She needs all the bleed she can kept." He was beginning to stitch her gash when he had to stop on the account of her sudden elevated heart rate, forcing fresh blood out of the wound.

"Huha!" sang the plump one, his back to Amelia. "Finally a nurse whose not worshiping at your feet. I think I like her already."

Hawkeye rolled his eyes, and mumbled something underneath his breath "Whatever."

After half an hour later, B.J. took off his gloves, "Alright, let's get you into Post-Op. I want you watched."

He looked at the chaplain beside him, "Ah, could you help her, my hands are."

"Yes, B.J. I think I can handle it," he voice was harsher than he intended, but his face soften immediately with an apologetic expression.

"If the chaplain's against you, boy you better watch your back," laughed Hawkeye.

The chaplain's face immediately flushed and turned towards B.J. "Sorry, B.J. I didn't mean—"

"I know, we're all pretty edgy tonight, considering the circumstances." He motion to Amelia, the _woman_ sitting on the table. "Women shouldn't be allowed in war. It's twisted fortune."

"Unless They are volleyball, half-nude and sweaty athletics. If not, B.J.'s right."

Amelia smiled upon hearing the major's scuffing noises, "My nurses can hold their own . . . "

The major's complains disappeared from her ears as the chaplain led her back the post-op. It all made sense now; he was the chaplain. His awkwardness in his proximity with her, his fidgety body, his hesitant. Amelia frowned to herself.

"Okay, here we are." he said leaning forward and slide his hands from her body. She sat on the cot, a moan escaping her lips.

She was still in her blood soaked coat and it distributed the chaplain greatly to think she'd be sleeping in them. Somehow in all the craziness a fresh pair had lost it way to her. He called over the nurse on duty and requested her a fresh new uniform. "Of course Father Mulcahy."

He turned back to the woman, finding her fighting sleep. She was relaxed against the wall, eyes closed.

"I can stay here, with you, if you'd like? To keep you company and awake."

Her eyes peeped open and found his. "Thank you, but I'd prefer to be alone."

"Oh, well, good night," he said frowning at her such blunt response. It took him by the surprise. It was as if, having learned that he was a chaplain, she wanted to be away from him.

She saw the hurt in his eyes; she hadn't meant to sound so blunt but she just wanted to be alone. With her thoughts. By herself.

She watched him turned around, and walked over to the other nurse. Mary Baker. He knelt beside her, his mouth moving silently in the darkness, and he stood, his hand forming into a cross. . . .

A feeling of hope subsided in his heart as he stared down at the cross around her neck. He hoped severely, selfishly, he admitted, that she was religious. He hoped for a friend.

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

Amelia had waited a few minutes after the chaplain leave to get up and find her way towards the showers. She had taken a towel from the supply cabinet in post-op and headed directly for them.

She stepped underneath the spray of warmth, washing away the dried blood and the dirtiness that resided below. She gripped on hold of the thin wall around the shower as the colonel flashed in her mind, a feeling of hatred and disgust pooling in her stomach . . . but then her sister came to mind, and the reason why she was here. She wasn't going to pity or feel sorry for herself. . . . she didn't have time for that.

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

And that is how Father Mulcahy and Amelia met. But does Father Mulcahy seem a little bit more interested in Mary Baker than Amelia? How should all this pan out? . . . . So Amelia and Major Houlihan seem to be getting on along just peachy ;)

Right, so I want to thank all the lovely people who reviewed on the last chapter. Thank you so much for showing an interest with this story. Thank you, thank you!

Chapter four is almost done and hope to get it out in the next few days. . . . So thanks for reading and leave me some feedback. Be as blunt as you want. I like all criticism . . . it helps me be a better writer.


	4. Introductions pt 1

**Author's Note:** To all the MASH fandom-ers: I've only been with this fandom for a few months, but it's really great to see it picking up. I've noticed a lot of new stories, especially one-shots, which are always lovely, being published. I've also noticed this fandom takes care of its own. No matter the description or pairing, authors always support their fellow writers by leaving reviews and advice. And it's really great coming into a new fandom and seeing the caring nature of its authors. You just know this is a great community of people. It definitely encourages and inflames my work-efficiency and out-put. So thank you, MASH lovers. You're awesome!

Back to the story; as you can see this is a pt. 1 of 2 chapter. I only did this to cut the day (time-period in the ch.) in half when the chapter is exceeding a certain length. I thought the original chapter was way too long, so I simply cut it in two. Another note, just remember it's winter and everyone is bundled up and another thing, Mary Baker is young, about 20-22 age range. Just keep that in mind. Right, so with those few notes said, please continue with the story, enjoy.

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

FLASH FORWARD

_"What are you doing?" she giggled, her body squirming underneath his hovering body, his hands and knees planted into the bed, his lips trailing soft, tender kisses down her body. He didn't reply, but rather continue to kiss his way down her stomach. The air in her lungs caught in her throat and held there as he began kissing the sensitive skin around her hip. She buckled her hips away from his lips, the teasing pleasure suddenly too much, but he steadied her squirming body back into his control, placing two firm palms on her hips. She arched them into his warm embrace, her fingers entangling his blonde and graying locks of hair, lightly clenching them between her fingers in the fit of pure ecstasy._

_"Please," she moaned, her head driven deep into her pillow, her eyes in the back of her head._

_He moved back up to her face and kissed her chin. "I want to know every inch of your body." He kissed her nose, then both of her cheeks, and her eyelids, even the corners of her eyes. He clenched both her hands in his, and placed a thousand tender kisses on them._

_"This is surely going to be a long night."_

_She giggled as he beginning lightly nibbling her throat with his teeth, knowing full well she was very ticklish there._

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

Lieutenant Mary Baker, opening her eyes, flinched violently against the light. She was quick to shut her eyes, her face screwed up in tight wrinkles around her eyes and forehead. A few moments later she open her eyes again, however more slowly, very aware of the blinding light this time.

She heard a playfully chuckle and turned towards the voice. She found a man sitting in a chair besides her, holding an empty tray, however when he saw her looking at him, he smiled and set the tray beside the cot. She realized it was the chaplain of the 4077th, seeing the cross dangle from his neck and the white-collar around his throat, and immediately sat up, pushing her back into the wall behind her, suppressing a shy smile.

"Good morning," he said in a cheery voice, still lightly chuckling having watched her spasmining reaction to his presence. "I trust you slept well."

When Mary scrunched her brows together, confused, he added with a gesture of his hand about his head, looking above her own.

"Oh," she gasped loudly, embarrassed, and brought her hands to her hair, flattening and smoothing her snarly brown curls, a blush creeping down her cheeks. "Oh, my, I must look absolutely dreadful."

"None what so ever" he said, relaxing deeper into his chair, and crossed one leg over the other, his hands finding their natural place balled-up in his lap. "And it's good to see you feeling better . . . and to see your cheeks return to their natural color."

"Thank you Father," she replied sheepishly, her eyes shifting shyly away from the priest's merry confident ones.

"I prayed for you to make a speedy and healthy recovery, and here you sit now. After two days of rest, you very much seem well rested and quite lively."

"Yes, thank you so much, Father." She was smiling, blushing profusely at the kind priest, still too bashful to look him directly into his eyes. He was very handsome, she shamefully admitted, but she couldn't help noticing his enticing and friendly smile. "Has the storm finally blown over?"

"Just this morning, and thank heaven's for it. It looks much like a winter wonderland outside."

Mary blushed even harder. The chaplain smiled, quiet aware of the effects he was having on her.

"Oh, who's that I see?—un-nestled from her bed?"

The smiling pair shifted their eyes to the incoming man.

"I didn't expect to see a smiling face so soon. I see there is a lot more than medicine at work here."

"Oh, bless you, B.J.," the father beamed, watching the man snatch a stool from another cot and place it on the other side of Mary's cot. Her cheeks redden profoundly as the two older men stared down at her.

"Hello, Lieutenant Baker, I'm Doctor B.J. Hunnicutt. And I believe you've already met Father—"

"Mulcahy. Father Mulcahy," he sang merrily, pushing his hand towards her. She smiled kindly and accepted his hand.

"Just our friendly neighborhood priest," B.J. added.

"I sure do appreciate the two of you taking such good care of me. I hope I haven't been too much of a burden. And I hope I can find way to repay your kindness."

Father Mulcahy was brimming with delight when he heard her speak such kind and genteel words_. So modest hearted she is. _The father was most definitely taken by her caring poise and speech. _ I think we'll get on very well together. _He shook his head, and replied:

"Wouldn't dream of it. . . . " a sudden thought came to his mind and he paused thoughtfully, the corner of lips slowly peeking into a smile. "Mary. . . . I couldn't help but notice the cross around your neck, but would it be wrong of me to assume you're a church-goer?"

"Oh yes, Father. Every Sunday, mother, father, and brother and I go. We wouldn't miss Father Patrick's sermons for anything," she stated with glee, her eyes shifted over the father's head, remembering fond memories of home and church.

"Wonderful. Just wonderful," Father Mulcahy sang happily. "My pry, if you'll allow me."

"Anything father."

He smiled warmly at her open-mindedness, and finally asked,"Do you how to play the piano?"

Her face suddenly beamed with life and animation, "Well, sure I do. I've known how to play since I was a little girl. And played in Church and mini-concerts for the family."

"Excellent," he said clasping his hands together. "Would you mind sharing your talent and playing for me—ah, . . . at our Sunday services?"

"That _is_ a wonderful idea. I'd love that very much."

"Well," said B.J. finally stepping into the conversation, and stood from the stool. "I can see Lt. Baker is well taken care of. I'll come back later to check your bandages and check up on you, okay?"

"Okay, thank you Doctor Hunnicutt."

"B.J."

"B.J." she repeated shyly, another wave of red creeping down her face as she watched him walk away. She bit her bottom lip and turned back to the chaplain, seeing him smile at her made her feel like she was back at home.

B.J had walked away from the chatty and smiling pair, smiling to himself about Father Mulcahy and his reactions and effects he had on the new nurse. _They're going to be an interesting team._

"Hey, B.J., how's Lt. Baker?" Hawkeye asked as B.J. came up on him standing by the desk, having watched him come from her cot. B.J. looked momentarily at his friend before turning and looking at her and Father Mulcahy, finding the pair smiling and getting excited over something.

"Better than excepted. She has made the fastest recovery of hypothermia I'd ever saw."

Hawkeye glanced over B.J.'s shoulder spying Father Mulcahy smiling brightly like an excited school boy. "It seems like a lot more than medicine is on her side."

"Ya, that's what I said."

"Oh," he said frowning, having not said the clever remark first; an ongoing, silent battle between the two friends.

"I don't see private Rogers anywhere. Send him off to Tokyo General?"

"Ya, I didn't want to risk infection." He turned back to the smiling pair across the room. "The father seems quite smitten with our Lady Mary—"

"How _is_ she," pressed the woman behind them, having only heard the name Mary.

Both Hawkeye and B.J. turned to find Margaret standing behind them, hands on hips, eyebrows raised.

B.J sighed tiredly, turning towards the major, realizing nothing but medical terms and numbers were going to pacify her, and replied, "Well from appearance she looks to be recovering fine, but I haven't checked her vitals or her bandages yet."

"Why not!? I need her to make the fastest recovery in history . . . her and _that Lt. Ryan_." Her lip had the faintest upper curl of contempt.

"Hmm . . . already finding something wrong with the lieutenant?" sang Hawkeye, having sang this tune many times before. He had the smuggest smirk on his face recalling what B.J. had told him about the incident she and Lt. Ryan had had.

"Oh blow it out your smoke pipe, Pierce."

"Ooo, I did strike a nerve," he sang, looking at B.J., who rolled his eyes.

"I haven't checked on her because she just woke-up, and she and Father Mulcahy seemed to be getting on pretty well together. God knows that man needs it—her, another religious nut, no offense intended. And especially as of lately. He hasn't seemed like him—"

"Oh, enough of Father Mulcahy," she said turning and looking towards the chatty pair. "If he needs to 'talk' to someone, he can talk to God."

"That's rather harsh, Margret," chided Hawkeye. "Making a man talk to himself, especially if he's going through something."

Margret rolled her eyes, ignoring Hawkeye. "Listen B.J. I need all my nurses fit and top-shape. I mean look at this room!" She made a gesture with her hands. "Its full of patients and not enough nurses!"

"And speaking of nurses. Where's _the Lt. Ryan." _he said, mocking Margret's tone.

They all turned towards the cot they had left the lieutenant in, and frowned as they discovered it empty.

"Where'd she go?"

"Oh, Father Mulcahy," shouted Margret walking towards him.

"Oh, so when it's convenient she wants to talk the father?" elbowed Hawkeye B.J. before they followed after her.

"Oh, father, have you seen the Lt. Ryan?"

Father Mulcahy had been in mid chuckle when the major shout at him, his mind still cloudy with excitement about Mary Baker. His eyebrows had come together, confused. "Who?"

"Amelia," she pressed harshly at the smiling chaplain.

"Oh," he said simply recognizing the name. "Oh!" he then said, recognizing the name and the events that came with it. "Of course, of course. ." His mind was still jumping around with his conversation with Mary and he really hadn't been paying too much attention to the major.

"Well, have you seen her!?"

"No I haven't."

His face suddenly became very solemn and perplexed, his eyes shifting sadly to the floor. He suddenly felt extremely guilty about forgetting about her. But his mind had been so set upon Mary, having seen her holding to a cross last night, that he had forgotten about everything else. Oh! How he felt so guilty now! How selfish he was to forget the other nurse.

"I'm sorry I can't be of more use, . . . but perhaps I can help you look for her."

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

A jeep pulled along side the narrow road.

"You sure you should out here in your condition?"

Amelia ignored the MP and jumped down the hill, sliding on her feet and hands; the mangled jeep in the distance.

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

"Colonel Potter I want her on report for this!"

Margaret Houlihan had discovered the whereabouts of Amelia and immediately went to the commander officer.

"Now Margret—"

"She has defied regulations, already breaking protocol. She did not ask my permission to leave the compound. Now colonel I know your pretty lax with these things, however I take my job very seriously . . . With her disorderly contact yesterday and her defiance with both me and Doctor's Hunnicutt's order of bed rest. . . she's adding up to be a bad apple. And you know from your experience as a commanding officer, one bad apple spoils the whole barrel."

The colonel sighed, taking his glasses off, momentarily rubbing his eyes. "Margaret, I already have too much on my plate as it is, however seeing as you're already emotional compromised—

"What?"

"I think it best if I ought to conduct Lt. Ryan's interview and evaluation."

"But colonel, she is _my_ nurse!?"

"Margaret, I've already made-up my mind. And you know from your experience with me, I'm as stubborn as a mule. Now I am in agreement with you; Lt. Ryan's insolence of yesterday's incidence will not be tolerated again, however none of what has transpired between you and Lt. Ryan needs to go on report."

She scoffed about, hands on her hips, pacing the area in front of his desk. "Fine, but let the record show I'm against the lieutenant. And I'll be waiting to say 'i told you so' when she is proved to be incompetent."

Hawkeye, B.J., and Klinger had an ear pressed against the outer wall of the colonel's office, listening to the major's and colonel's conversation about Lt. Ryan when they suddenly jumped at the sound of a loud bang!

"Hello, boys, . . . aren't we curious, " sang the chaplain from behind him, his voice was thick with sarcasm and authority; the part authority he held to guilt people into acting with their better half.

"Uh? Oh, hello Father," Klinger stuttered, stumbling away from the wall. His attempts to mislead the father were see-through."We were, um, we, um, you see father, we were—"

"Curious," injected Hawkeye, rolling his eyes.

"Margret already has it in for our new nurse Lt. Ryan," B.J. said filling in the priest with the new gossip.

Father Mulcahy, taking a vigorous breath, shook his head, frustrated with the boys' behavior, however immediately forgave and forget—

"Poor Lt. Ryan, already she's in a heap of trouble with the major, and to think of what she's been through. . . ."

He was aware of moving gossip around the camp. She was popular with the men, however the women not so much. But the father immediately closed his ears when it came close enough for him to hear. However he would be lying if he said he wasn't curious.

"Say wha'd the lieutenant do to ruffle the major's feathers? anyway. I hear it was duesy," asked Klinger.

B.J. and Hawkeye exchanged glances between themselves, a smirk forming on both their faces.

"May I have the honors?" asked Hawkeye devilishly, a low chuckled sounding from his throat.

"All yours," B.J. replied.

"A woman after me heart." Hawkeye made a gesture with his hands against his heart." . . . Father you may what plug your ears."

"Surely what the lieutenant has done couldn't possible to be any worst than what I've heard. And I've heard quite a lot."

Hawkeye chuckled devilishly again, knowing full well it'd make the father blush, but if he insisted.

"Lieutenant Amelia Ryan," he began dramatically, "Told the major she was a nagging—"

"Bitch."

All four men jumped at the causal sounding voice behind them, especially the father considering his back was right in front of the entrance way from outside. They all turned, fining Amelia staring back at them.

She was looking pass the four men to the door that rang out screeches of her name. She turned to the man who she assumed was the company clerk, having meet the three other men, she said:

"I believe I have an appointment with the colonel and—" a loud screech of a woman sounded. "The major."

"Right," he said promptly and knocked on the colonel's door. He was met with groans and entered the office.

"Turning yourself in, huh? Never heard of that tactic before. How do you figure you're gettin' out of this one?" Hawkeye joked with her, with a very particular glint in his eye, however Amelia apparently wasn't in the mood. Her gazed dropped to the floor, her face blank and unreadable. She waited a few moments, standing beside the chaplain, for the company clerk to come back.

"Your death wish has been granted. You may go in; they've been excepting you."

Before she started into the office, her gaze shifted to the chaplain's, who had happen to catch her glance and stare back curiously. It was only for a moment as she broke her gaze and started into the office, and disappeared from his sight.

The chaplain surveyed the other men to see if they had seen the weird exchange between them, but he found that their ears were already pressed tightly against the wall, a part from Hawkeye, who appeared deep in thought._ Most likely in scheme_, thought the chaplain. .

"Did she seriously say that!?" whispered Klinger harshly.

"Heard it with my only ears."

"You're lying! There's no way the major would let her be walking around. . . . What'd the major do to her?"

"Potter saved her before Margaret could roll up her sleeves. Said it was from the accident, but boy Margaret wasn't fooled."

"Oh, my," finally spoke the stunned chaplain by the entry way.

"Still think, 'poor Lt. Ryan?'" interjected Hawkeye, coming out of his trance.

"What an awful thing to call the major. What on earth would posses someone to call someone else that!?" The chaplain was very puzzled in Amelia actions. He certainly couldn't hold her in the same esteem as he had.

"The major had said it was driver's fault for crashing, however Amelia thinks if Margaret hadn't called them into the storm into the first place, well . . ."

"What a strange and mysterious specimen . . . I think I require her to be put underneath a microscope and dissected."

"Hawkeyeee, you just met her," lightly chided the chaplain.

"No, no, no . . . geez father, get your head out of the gutter."

The chaplain rolled his eyes and shook his head lightly.

"I see a challenge a-foot. Misses Mysterious meet Mr. Curious. " His voice had that thickly clipped chuckle, very impish and dangerous.

Father Mulcahy rolled his eyes again, have seen this situation many times before.

The yelling arose from inside the office again and the trio pressed their ears to the door. However Father Mulcahy remained standing by the door, just listening to yelling at Lt. Ryan.

Hawkeye looked at the priest, his lips in a wicked smirk.

"Come on Father. You know you're tempted."

Hawkeye had that glint in his eye.

"Yes, that's what scares me."

"Ah, father," said a new voice, a head peeking its through the entry way behind him. "They're looking for you outside. We have Lt. Zoey Benson body."

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

"Twice now Lt. Ryan has disrespected me and my authority. I will not stand of it, especially not from a smug, sarcastic one."

"Please have a seat lieutenant," he said over the crying rants of his head nurse, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

"I'd prefer to stand, thank you," Amelia replied modestly, declining his offer.

The colonel sighed and sat behind his desk; the woman stepping besides him, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

"Margret, I think it'd be best if I conduct this interview alone."

She was billowing with angry, but forced a smile at the colonel and left. The colonel waited a few moments after the doors shut . . . .

"Don't you have anything better to do then spy on the colonel's conversations!?"

After hearing those last words from Margaret outside the door, the colonel turned to his attention to the woman standing in front of him.

"Why don't you go on and have a seat now," he said scuffling about a few papers on his desk. After a few moments to collect his thoughts, he began:

"Amelia I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt. Technically, you were suffering from a mild concession; the words you were spilling were probably a side-effect from it, however I rather doubt that considering you rebuttal against me defending you." He sighed loudly, lightly shaking his head. "I don't know what you were trying to prove with that remark. It certainly hasn't earn you any brown points with the major or me. Well we will be getting down to the nitty-gritty about the accident and everything that followed, but before that I what to discuss the repercussions of your actions with the major.

"Now Amelia, do to the recent event, it has been called upon me by major, to seriously consider the possible hostile working-atmosphere you've created. I agree with the major, and I have absolutely zero tolerance for it. We are a MASH unit. If we do not mash, we crumble. We work with the highest efficiency and I will not put-up with unladylike conduct. Do you understand me?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now because of this little fiasco. I will be personally evaluating you. Normally the major has complete control over her nurses and she'd be evaluating and determining the final decision about you, but considering the circumstances and forgetting emotions, it'd an instance no. So I will be the one deciding."

"Yes sir."

"I will watch how you perform and aid in surgeries, along with overseeing your post-op duties. Also I've called your recruiter and your basic training commanding officer Colonel George S. Turner." His face suddenly light up. "Boy do him and I go way back. So he'll have no problem spilling the beans about you."

Amelia felt her heart tighten, and she brought her hand over her chest, lightly pushing her finger's into her heart, trying to soothe the sudden pain.

"Yes sir."

"I actually phoned him this morning. Ironically his scheduled to arrive here in two weeks times. He was very enthusiastic hearing about you, although under these circumstances. He seemed rather fond of you. He'll be a reining factor in my decision to keep you here."

"Yes sir."

He eyed her. Her lacking of fight and ferocity seemed highly questionable. She seemed very subdued, quiet, and in contempt. "You seem to be taking this very well."

"Were you excepting some hostility?"

"Yes, actually." He eyed her again, her quiet responsive striking curiosity in him. "Perhaps I was right in the first place. It was just the accident. . . but if something happens like that again, I'll have to put you on report because I have absolutely no tolerance of insolent or disorderly conduct. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt, but never twice. Alright, lieutenant. Dismissed. I believe Winchester's waiting for you in Post-op. Oh, and Amelia. For you're own sake, I'd stay away from the major for these next two weeks and if you must speak with her, perhaps just nod. And I'll be wanting to speak to you again about the accident."

Amelia appeared from the colonel's office, face blank, eye's staring ahead.

"What is this I spy with my little eye? Not a scratch? scrape? bruise? bump? or teeth mark? . . . ." Hawkeye narrowed his eyes on her. "How have you escaped unscathed?"

Amelia shifted her eyes slightly behind her, to the man who had been croaching beside the door and was now standing beside her, staring bewildered.

"Captain Pierce I presume?"

"Hmm, my reputation precedes me. How does the lady in green know me?"

Amelia gingerly smiled, "Oh, no. Its that dumb smirk on your face."

"Oh you're good," laughed the man besides him.

"Doctor Hunnicutt," she said shifting her eyes to him. "Thank you for last night."

"Wait a minute? You're nice to him and not me? What gives?"

In truth Amelia had heard all about the infamous Captain Benjamin Pierce and his womanizing ways. She didn't particular dislike him or like him, somewhere between not caring.

"Ah, Lieutenant Ryan," sighed a very tired and grumpy man, his body peeking from the entry way into post-op. "Colonel Potter has unfortunately assigned you to me. Come."

Amelia was about to follow after him before a hairy man stepped in front of her.

"I like your style. Any one brave enough to tell off the major is A-okay is my book. Say you trying for a section eight? Anyway. Corporal Maxwell Klinger at your service. If you need anything at all, I'm your girl."

Amelia actually had the faintest smile on her face, and was about to say something when she heard her name again.

"Amel-yaaa," sang the annoyed voice behind the door. "We haven't all day."

Amelia rolled her eyes and followed after the plump, balding man.

"Got to admit she's a loaded pistol," B.J. said, watching Amelia leave.

"Ya, but who's she going to go off on next?"

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Okay, I know it seems like I am picking on the major a lot, but I swear there's a reason and resolution. All the hype is not for nothing or for show. And about Father Mulcahy and Amelia's relationship. No, it's not love at first sight, but that is what's beautiful about their relationship. Physical appearance means nothing to them. It's the emotional bond they create with each other that . . . well, I can't give it all way ;) but with that being said I can tease you with bits of words. Future chapters involve mistletoe, cake, and kisses? Thanks for reading :) And let me what you thought.


	5. Introductions pt 2

Upon hearing her name being sang with an airy annoyance and impatience, Amelia followed after the balding man, of whom she knew, already speculating from his appearance and attitude, was more than likely a giant ass. Nevertheless she was going to make nice, force a smile on her face, and pretend to like it here.

A feeling of anguish and disdain quickly befell her as she came into the room, finding the balding man with his hands stuffed into his white jacket pockets, his thumbs peeking-out from the hole, and his right foot tapping on the floor in an impatient manner. He stood with a domineering and overbearing poise, giving off the most arrogant and pompous character Amelia has come to see at the 4077th. She came to a halt a few feet from his person, a brow raised with the slightest contempt and transparency. She had the hardiest of times tolerating arrogance, but she would force herself to comply.

He, himself, was making his own silence evaluation of this new nurse, his eyes flickering about her person and coming to the foulest of conclusions. A pure breed could always sniff out the muts. However, when he saw her come to a halt in front of him, he could easily detect the slightest of emotions; her pale face, with a hint of indifference. It made for the easiest of recipes for disaster. Perhaps, he thought, he could ween her to his side and not see her with Tweedledee and Tweedledum. He gingerly smiled and stated very matter-a-factually:

"The name's Charles Emerson Winchester the Third. Study at Chaote. Harvard class of 43'. Graduated summa cum lande. Lettered in Crew and Polo. Competed my medical degree at Harvard Medical school in 48'. Occupy surgical residency at Massachusetts General Hospital. Was soon-to-be Chief of Thoracic Surgery before I was drafted into this," by now his voice had raised into a growling rant. "This . . . hellish and desolate wasteland!"

To Amelia dismay, she was unfortunately right. _Pompous ass._ She stood there, staring blankly at the man as he stared back at her. He seemed in want of gratification? praise?

"Am I supposed to be worshiping at your feet?"

A dry and humorless laughed shrilled from his mouth, instantly recognizing his jab at Hawkeye from the other night.

"Oh just perfect," he muttered to himself. "Another practical jokester."

Amelia let the man sweat a little before she replied, "Sorry, Charlie, to disappoint. I'm just practical."

He scowled anyway, and snatched up a clipboard from the desk. "My name is Charles. But it's Major to you."

"Okay Major . . . pain in the ass," she added lightly murmuring to herself when she knew he was far enough away from ear's shot. Amelia sighed inwardly, and followed after the him.

She listened quietly to the doctor speak, even through his many tireless speeches and the many quotes of the inspirational and intellectual words of various poets and literature sources. And Amelia went about her duties with indifference, her face always expressionless and without emotions. It was neither a joy or sorrow she was here. She did whatever was asked of her without hesitation or annoyance, only ever replying with a soft muttered of 'of course doctor,' or 'yes doctor,' or just a simple nod of her head and went about whatever was asked of her.

Charles was very impressed with the nurse's quickness and efficiency of her work, and most importantly the absence of complaint and snarly comments every time he would ask something of her. She didn't bother or pester him with fruitless questions or ask how this and that was to be done. And most of all, he commended her quiet and subdued poise. And she was very soft on the eyes he noted as he watched her from afar. He would easily forget her snarly comment from earlier in the afternoon if this is what is to become of his future post-op experiences. Serenity and peaceful.

"Lt. Ryan," he called lightly across the room. He saw her sitting besides the other new nurse, Mary Baker, in the kitty-corner, opposite of him and the desk.

Amelia had been talking with Mary and excused herself. She came over to him, halting a few inches from him and his chair, and looked down at him, her eyes quiet and kind.

"Amelia, . . . you can call me Amelia if you'd like."

The nice gesture caught him a little off guard however didn't let the surprise emotion register on his face. Although he thought her an excellent nurse, she had always held a quiet contempt for him through the day's shift. He had also heard about the little incident she had had with the major, and had scowled. At least until he was able to isolate himself and no longer able to contain his laughter. He also had heard the circulating gossip around the compound—disrespectful, barbaric, and a cheeky little hell cat—all from the mouth of Margaret Houlihan, of who couldn't contain her anger. It was why, in the beginning he saw this situation of being the doctor on duty with her, a plague on his life. However, judging for himself, Charles could renounce those labels.

"Amelia," he repeated slightly taken aback. "Because this shift cuts directly through both lunch and dinner, if you can call it that." He shuddered. "I wouldn't mind—holding down the hatch, here, while you ate."

He watched her face for a moment, her eyes narrowing against his, however they soften instantly a few moments after.

"As that is a very kind offer, I also am forced to decline," she said and watched his face fall with humiliation as she rejected his kind offer, but then she replied. "As I have been warned—repeatedly. I am never to cross the Major again. And seeing as both of us have come to the same conclusion with the likes of my shift cutting both in lunch and dinner, it's easy to see the Major has kindly extended her olive branch. . . . If the Major should see me—out to dinner—while I am supposed to be here, on duty—you can imagine her glee."

Charles couldn't contain his amusement and chuckled lightly. She was a very clever woman. Very sharp-tongued, he noted. "Yes, I see the dilemma you face. Perhaps I can intervene."

Amelia caught his drift, and replied, "Thank you Major."

"Charles."

"Charlie?"

"Don't push it."

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

Charles pushed through the doors the of the mess tent, his eyes instantly drawn to the woman quiet literally cutting vigorously into the metal tray with fork and knife as she relentlessly stared down the entryway of the tent. No doubt waiting for Amelia to waltz through the gated door and catch her.

Charles couldn't hide his amusement as he grabbed a tray from the table. A humorous grin across his face as he moved through the line quickly. He asked for a little of everything, considering he has yet to learn Amelia's taste, of which received weird glares from the man behind the table of food. His unusual behavior didn't go amiss from the curious spectators across the tent. Charles rolled his eyes as he gathered silverware and a cup of coffee on the tray. He turned and b-lined it for the door, however before he could escape, Hawkeye slipped his slender frame in front of the door, blocking Charles' escape.

"What's your rush Chuckles?"

"Get out of my way Pierce."

"Hungary Charles?"

"Famished. Now get out of my way."

He tsked loudly as he heard the distinct voice of his commanding officer say his name. He sank low, sighing, and turned towards the table which occupied Tweedledee and Tweedledum, the hairy manikin of woman's clothing, the padre, their fearless leader colonel, and the vexed vixen, all of whom had one pressing thing in their mind. Amelia.

"How _is _she Charles?" sang Hawkeye devilishly, and nudged him with his elbow.

"Fine," Charles replied calmly, wanting nothing more than to flee this circus act.

"Fine!?" shrilled the vixen. "Just fine!? Colonel I told you."

"Let me rephrase myself . . . she perfectly competent for residency at the 4077th."

"How competent?" nudged Hawkeye, a stupid smirk on his face.

Charles rolled his eyes and blew through the doors.

"How utterly unusual," remarked Hawkeye, his eyes following after him.

"What?" B.J. asked not really paying attention, rather playing with his fork.

"What? You didn't notice his bowl filled to the brim? Since when has Charles treated this joint like a buffet?"

"What are you two scheming about now?" Colonel Potter hollered down the table, interrupting Hawkeye. The colonel could see that little glint in Hawkeye's eye that told him he was up to no good.

"Nothin' pops," he said and inched closer to his partner in crime, beginning to muttered non-sense.

The colonel shook his head and turned to the padre, of who was sitting across from him, sipping lightly on a cup of coffee. Perceiving the priest so deeply in thought, his eyes staring at his tray, yet his mind off in some meadow, it aroused the colonel's curiosity, however he was pretty sure he was already aware of the thoughts running through the padre's mind as he saw his lips curling into a smile.

"Say Padre," he began, lightly snapping the priest from his day-dream. "How's Lt. Baker?"

"Hmm? Oh, . . .well, perhaps you should direct your question to her doctor."

The colonel lightly chuckled at the priest's consistent modesty. "I only ask because I hear you're pretty fond of her."

"Only in the most appropriate of capacities . . . she's a very kindle spirit and attends services regularly . . . "

Colonel Potter noticed a new fire in the Padre's eyes he began speaking about the lieutenant. _God knows that man needs another one of his kind. _

" . . . . so everything considered, I suppose I am quite taken with her . . . "

"Say, Padre, we're all gonna wet our whistles at the officer's club later tonight. Why don't you see of the lieutenant would care to join us. I hear she's making quiet the speedy recovery. We could have a little introduction party."

"Oh, I'd think she'd like that very much. She's been feeling a bit restless in bed. I think she'd like to stretch her legs."

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

Darkness was quickly engulfing the sky, a line of harsh purples and reds on the horizon. Within the past two days, the weather had warmed considerably, and had melted away the blizzard snow; a slushy and wet mess left behind.

Charles had returned with the tray of food and found Amelia sitting besides Mary again. He brought the tray to the desk on the other side of the room and waited for her to come over. Amelia had noticed a pair of eyes on her, and turned to find Charles setting down a tray of food for her.

"Thank you Charles," she said coming over and sitting down at the desk. It was all she said and all she needed to say as he watched her slowly devour the food. This little scheme—manipulation of his co-workers gave him a wired satisfaction.

"My pleasure," he muttered softly and retreated away; Amelia's eyes following after him.

Initially she thought him an arrogant fool, however as the day worn away her views changed. She watched him quietly through the day, his interactions between services men, other nurses, and the injured solider's. They treated him as Amelia had treated him—with contempt and disrespect. But now she held him in another air—one of a quiet misunderstanding, and with the respect he deserved. Although his pomposity was a turn off, he still wasn't the enemy.

Amelia ate in silence, slowing devouring all that reigned on the tray. Army food was very unpleasant and unforgiving later on, but nevertheless it was food and nutrition She would never complain—she knew what starvation was like and she would be grateful for any food she came across.

Not long after she finished, Charles came by and took the empty tray back to the mess tent. She was finally alone, apart from the sleeping soldiers. Amelia could feel the day's toll on her eyes and closed them. She ran a lazy hand through her hair, careful for the stitches. She let out a loud sigh and leaned forward, catching her nodding head in her hands, her elbows pointed into the desk. She had everything ready for the next nurse to come on duty and waited for her to relief her.

Amelia had only had her eyes closed for a few minutes when she felt a light nudge on her arm. She opened her eyes to find a woman standing besides her. Amelia had been making her rounds with the nurse, cot to cot, informing her of the solider's changes or progresses, when she noticed a man sitting besides Mary. She realized it the chaplain—Amelia hadn't even heard him come in.

When Amelia was at the last cot, opposite of Mary's, she turned to leave and happen to catch the chaplain's glance. She couldn't read or decipher his expression, but it was easily forgotten as Amelia stepped out in the night's air. She made steam with her breath, and curled her layers over in her fingers. She had only the thin, olive-green jacket until they returned her bloody coat from the washers.

With the fleeting warm she had, she started across the compound in a hasteful manner, but was forced to stop as she heard her name being shouted behind her. She turned around to find the chaplain lightly jogging towards her. Knowing this world force her to stay out in the cold a little longer than she wanted to, she folded her arms tightly against her chest, saving the little warmth that clang to her body.

"Oh you must be freezing," he said looking about her body, finding her in nothing but a thin jacket. "I wanted to have a word with you . . . . perhaps in my tent, where it's warm-er," he added quickly.

Amelia was very tired, and only wanted to retreat to her bed and curl herself underneath a blanket, but the expression of the chaplain's face, a look of anxious and insistence, forced her to nod and follow after him.

After a short walk to chaplain's tent, he held open the door, ushering Amelia quickly through the door. He bumped into her, slightly shoving her deeper into the room as he was quick to jumped inside and shut the door quickly behind him. He uttered his apologies and went about the room with ease. He had automatically flipped on the lights, the inside of the tent becoming visible.

Amelia couldn't help but take a quick glance about the space. A cot, dresser, and a desk. He certainly lives a simplistic life, she thought as the chaplain offered her a folding chair across from his. Amelia just wanted him to speak his mind so she could leave, but she signed quietly and took the seat opposite him. She waited with the patience she had left.

Amelia could easily detect his hesitant about what he wanted to speak to her about—no doubt probably about the little incident with her and the major. Amelia thought the chaplain probably thought awful about her in return. What with the little incident and the rumors and her brush-off from the first night she was here. She wouldn't be surprised if he did think poorly of her. Hell, she'd think poorly of herself, too.

After a few moments of silence she said, "Yes? What did you want to speak to me about?"

She knew the likely subject of this little chat and would say whatever she needed to flee from this tent. And apparently she had sounded a bit more harsh then she intended again as she watched his eyes narrow on her before he began.

The chaplain saw the impatience of the woman, however he wasn't going to let her rush what he wanted to speak to her about.

"As you are most linking already aware of what I wish to speak to you about, there is another more tender and delicate matter I wish to discuss first. . . . About Lt. Zoey Benson."

Amelia felt slightly bad for being so presumptuous and shifted her eyes to the floor, holding a sad expression. The chaplain saw her change in poise and began:

"Now I don't know how close you were with the lieutenant, but one of the hardest things I must do as an army chaplain is to write a letter informing the family of their child's death . . . and never yet, have I been asked to write a letter for the death of a daughter . . .. I've asked Lt. Baker to provide a few kind words, and now I ask you to do the same. Because unfortunately I didn't have the opportunity to know the lieutenant. And the only thing I have to go by is the words you provide. . . . I can't imagine how her parents will feel . . . losing a son, but losing a daughter? . . . I don't think I am asking too much of you—"

Amelia had fallen into a light trance, the chaplain words transporting her thousand's of miles away to her home in the states . . . to the day she had received her brother's letter . . . the typed words permanently imprinted in her mind, forever. She knew of what the chaplain was asking of her. She stayed in this trance until she heard his voice become slightly raised and pointed.

"It's . . . .okay. I understand the delicate nature of what you ask. It'd be my honor."

The chaplain's reaction was similar to Charles Winchester's had been when she corrected her name. Apparently people had other opinions about her person than she thought. However the chaplain was about to crack open her mouth, amplifying those rumors true.

"Good," he replied softly, taken aback. He had expected more hostility. "I'd think it best to get the letter sent out by the day after tomorrow."

"Now," he continued, his self very apprehensive, his hands shifting from his knees, to his lap, and back to his knees again. "Colonel Potter has asked me to talk to you about the little incident you had with the Major."

"What about it?"

"Well," he said, slightly recoiling away from her response. "To quote the bible—"

"Don't."

"Pardon?"

"Just don't. . . . I lost my faith with God a long time ago. There are no kind words you can speak to rectify my actions with the major. Or if you wanted me to come to some realization, or hell, even enlightenment about the harm I've inflicted—I'm afraid to disappoint . . . But I will say what I must to put this stupid non-sense to rest. So here is my response:

"Oh Father Mulcahy," she flatly began." I feel horrible about the things I've said to the major. What I said was in a state of confusion and I didn't know what I was saying. And deeply wish to apologize only I fear my words will fall upon deaf ears. There. If you'd like . . . report than back to the colonel."

Throughout the duration of her little speech, she could tell he wasn't amused. His face remained blank and still. And as she had spoken the words 'on deaf ears' she had been more or less referring to the chaplain as he received her words with a poise of annoyance.

He sighed loudly at her mockery and boldness. He had noted her first use of his title as chaplain, although it had been said in a state of contempt. And although she mocked both him and the colonel, he couldn't help but enjoy it—he would never allow himself to show it or ever speak of it, but he was taken with her fearlessness to speak that way to him—a priest. It had been quite a long time since anyone had spoken that easily to him or without fear of damnation if they should say anything bad in front of the priest. He also hadn't heard such conviction or passion spoken—granted it was against him—he just couldn't condemn her spirit.

He absolutely loved his profession, however along with the collar came anxious and apprehensive behavior from people when they spoke to him. No one ever spoke to him on a personally level, only professional. They'd speak to him as if their tongues were dancing around egg shells, moving along with caution and anxious not to break any shells. It was the one down side to being a priest. Everyone would get caught up in the collar, and forget there was a human being, with human feelings underneath the clothes. But as the words of the woman fall over him, he was mixed with delight and surprise.

He stared at her after she had finish her little speech. And he wasn't amused—but rather motivated to up-her.

"I maybe a very trusting person—comes with the nature of being a priest," he began rather softly, but as he continued, his voice became more passionate with every syllable. "And most times considered naïve, but don't let my saintly demeanor fool you. I am a worldly and cultured man, and knows a load of bullocks when he hears it . . . Don't beat around the bush with me. Be straight with me!"

Amelia's brows were raised in shock. She didn't have to know the chaplain for long to know that that wasn't his usual speech and behavior or his nature temper. The faintest of smirks came across her face, and she felt an instant respect for the chaplain's boldness.

Father Mulcahy, after saying what he had said, had even surprised himself. A slight twitch became of hands as he didn't know what possessed him to say such things, but sensed it had the desire effect as he saw the faintest smile on her lips.

"I want the truth, not the excepted truth. I want _your_ truth. " His voice had become soft and yielding again. Both their eyes were fixed on the other's, both of an silent understandment.

"Okay, John," she started softly. "I'll be straight with you."

She straighten herself in the chair, drawing a large span of air in her lungs and exhaled loudly. Her eyes were soft and her cheeks very pale. She licked her lips and began quietly:

"I meant what I said to the Major. And have no intentions of apologizing unless she comes to me—I know she had no way of knowing we'd get in an accident, however a life could have been spared if her virtue had been patience. Lt. Benson's death was unnecessary."

"Every death in war is unnecessary, especially if it is before their time."

Her gaze shifted to the floor, nodding sadly to his words. It was clear to detest her sadness not for Lt. Benson, but perhaps another relative.

"Thank you Amelia. Hearing your honesty is appreciated. . . .There was one more thing I wanted to discuss with you, but I think it can wait." He stood, and she mimicked him, edging her way towards the door. "Good night, Amelia."

She nodded in reply, but before she left, she turned and said, "Sweet dreams, John."

And before he could say anything more, the door shut her away. The chaplain watched after the door long after Amelia had left. He finally pulled himself way and went to his desk, pulling out his bible, flipping its pages to a very particular passage, thinking about the strange woman who he had just had the most unusual epiphany with.

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

**Author's Note: **I quoted a line from the episode Captain's Outrageous, _"Don't let my saintly demeanor fool you_ . . . Love thy neighbor or I'll punish your lights out." I don't claim that beautiful line. . . .So Amelia is a very understanding person. Sometimes she's defensive and other times open-minded. And this is the beginning of their beautiful relationship.


	6. Secret Revelation

FLASH FORWARD

_"Now you're just mocking me," he stated ironically, a hint of amusement and a dash of seriousness in his voice as he watched her straddle his hips, in her hands she held an apple. Her eyes were hungry with a selfless desire to please him as he gawked shyly from below, his eyes gleaming with an agony as she teased him from above. _

_She bit into the apple and kissed him, the sweet nectar gushing out of her mouth and into his, and down both their chins as their kiss was sloppy and heated. After several breathless moments later, she made the motion to pull away, but he grabbed her elbows and forced her back, and licked and sucked the sweet juices dripping from her lips and chin._

_"What can I say," she finally said, tearing her lips away from his. "You are my forbidden apple."_

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

A strange tranquility seized Amelia in the middle of the compound—the absence of the chaplain's damnation plaguing her thoughts. In his voice, pleading against her mockery and insolence with his rebuttal, there had been such a frustrated passion—this kind-of secret desire for equality between his man and priesthood—that it had moved her so profoundly with such empathy, she had found herself opening up with the truth to him. In mere seconds she seemed to have absorbed a lifetime of his anguishes and sorrows, his hopes and joys, and his wishes and desires, and this fierce and potent revelation of his genuine creditably and sincerity gave her the comfort and the ability to trust him; to open up to him.

And to Amelia's bewilderment, she found herself being able to speak easily to the chaplain, expressing her true feelings about the incident with the major, even though her words—her truth could incriminate herself. She found herself able to confined in him without worrying about the possible repercussions of her words. Not with the excepted truth, but _her_ truth. It perplexed her considerately that she had felt free of all fear and judgement in his presence. She had never felt like that with anyone else and that thought scared her. She had never opened herself up so easily and certainly not to some stranger she had only meet once or twice.

Their conversation hadn't been a particularly long one—and yet with a few spoken words he had swept her underneath his naivety-like charm like he had put her underneath a spell—or was it his genuine concern—or was it simply because he was a priest, and Amelia was subconsciously thinking he couldn't possible relay back anything and that thought alone made her fearless . . . Somehow or another, he had made her open up and that thought scared her.

_Why?_ she asked herself still standing in the middle of the compound, her thoughts keeping her immobile._ Why him? What was it about him that made her open up? Was it what he said or what he didn't say? _Amelia shook her head_, it was just because he was a priest—and nothing more. _These thoughts would have plagued her for the rest of the night if a soft hand hadn't been placed on her shoulder. Amelia didn't flinch or jump, but turn her head slowly to the person behind her; her eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

"A little late for _day_dreaming, lieutenant?" came the distinct voice of the commanding officer of the 4077th. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"I'd be rich with pennies then," she breathed out heavily, a hint of humor in her voice, her lips twitching into a tight smile—although forced, noticed the colonel.

Upon hearing her weary sigh, the colonel came around her, his hand pivoting on her shoulder, and gave it a light pat as he took in her appearance. She looked both mentally and physically drained—both the jet lag and the accident etched in her pale skin.

"Every man—or _wo_man has stupid thoughts, only wise men keep them quiet. . . . There," he exclaimed softly, watching her cheeks redden. "Is the real smile. . . . Alright, enough friendly chit chat—time to get down to the nitty gritty."

The colonel lead her across the compound and into his office, offering her the chair opposite of his desk as he rounded his own. Amelia took the chair a little more easily then she had earlier in the day. The colonel plopped down in his chair and shuffled about papers looking for one in particular, and when he found it, he snapped up a fountain, and scribbled on the paper immediately.

"Alright," he sighed heavily. "The faster we get this done, the faster I can escape back into my cold paradise—my bed."

The colonel had asked her questions about everything he could think of, (efficiency is what runs this man's army, he said) demanding exact details, of which Amelia could only shake her head or shrug her shoulders at. Questions about the exact time they had arrived at the Seoul Headquarters, the exact time they were laid over there, and what time they had departed from the West Hanger...exactly. Amelia could only generalize her answers, of which frustrated the colonel easily, but what Amelia had told him was sufficient enough for the report to be filed.

"We departed from Seoul Headquarters around...I would have to say around seven—ah, 1900 hours, sir...the solider—Private Rogers said the journey would take at least fours hours in the blizzard conditions...He kept the ride under controllable and manageable speeds throughout the duration of the trip."

"What was he clocking?"

Amelia sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "Twenty five—thirty miles per hour—I can't be sure for certain."

The colonel nodded as he made scribbles on the paper.

"The MP's who found your jeep in the ditch spotted it five miles from here...What had happened so close to the 4077th?"

Amelia sighed again, thinking intently about what she was going to say next. For her to speak the truth—she would be pointing a finger at Pt. Rogers and Lt. Benson, and Amelia had no intents of doing that. She had made the decision to lie about the accident after watching the solider being carried off on the stretcher two nights ago. If the truth should be known—that it was because of Lt. Benson's seductive teasing that had landed them in the ditch and that she had caused her own death, and that because the solider had encouraged her behavior, Pt. Rogers would be more than liking to be court marshaled for unbecoming behavior (or with whatever half-baked reason the army would make up.) And Amelia didn't want that. So she pleaded with Mary to fudge the truth to save the dignity of two lives. Mary reluctantly agreed, however Amelia had her doubts. Mary had too much of a conscience—a catholic conscience to lie on an official investigation.

The colonel had asked her to relay back as much detail as she could remember. . . . Amelia thought back to the accident, her eyes shifting in the air as she tried to remembered the details...She remembered Mary crying out about the enemy coming—but Amelia had known better. When the solider had announced they were just about seven or so miles away, Amelia had sat up and peered through the windshield, and watched as the solider took his eyes off the road and onto the blonde besides him. She watched him turn back and lose his grip on the steering wheel when his passenger made him jump. The solider had overcompensated with the wheel, of which sent the jeep swirling about on the road, and into the ditch and down the hill. . . . There had been no enemy, and there had been no ambush. Amelia had only lied to Mary and continued to make her believe that _they_ were coming, to force her into action.

After several moments to collect her thoughts, Amelia shifted her attention back to the colonel, and chose her words carefully.

"We were about seven miles away when the Pt. Rogers announced we were all most there...And a few minutes later, the Private saw something in the road—an ambush from the enemy as Mary had said herself at the time of the accident—she said she had seen it in the road before we came to be in the ditch. The Private swerved to miss it and we went into the ditch, rolling roof over roof until the jeep smash into a tree at the bottom."

Amelia hesitated a few moments, a few gruel images flashing before her eyes as she remembered her senses from the accident; the dizzy haze in her head, the thick fog on her eyes, and that overwhelming turning in her stomach, and tight knot in her chest . . .

"Both Pt. Rogers and Lt. Benson were thrown through the windshield, and Mary and me were toss about in the back...The Private must have landed on a branch that was sticking up, out the snow—as you are already aware, it got wedged between his rib cage and punctured his left lung. I managed to extract the twig and re-inflate his lung by stuffing the small gash with gauze. I tried to hold the pressure by wrapping him up as tightly as I could. It managed to keep hold until we made it here."

"Nothing short of a miracle," he stated graciously, finally looking up from his papers.

Amelia nodded in reply, her eyes shifting to the floor. She held an airy sadness about her, but quickly masked her pain, straightening erect and agile in the chair as she felt his eyes fall on her.

"What happened to Lt. Benson?" he asked cautiously, his eyes flickering about her person in reaction to her sudden change.

"The Private had had on his hard hat, of which he pierced through the windshield basically unharmed. It saved his life. But Lt. Benson didn't have one on and . . . She was propelled through the window, and . . . she bleed to death within minutes...her neck mangled and lacerated, and there was nothing that there—I could have done."

Upon hearing Lt. Benson gruesome and agonizing death, the colonel threw down his pen and leaned back in his chair, his hands finding the pulsing knots in the base of neck and shoulder and tiredly tried to rub the pain away. He breathed out heavily, his eyes closed and pointed to the ceiling.

It was evident to Amelia, the discussion about women, not just dying an agonizing death, but dying on the battlefields in war, that the colonel was very disturbed and upset. He seemed like very kind man who Amelia, as she sat staring at the quietly becoming frustrated man, gained respect for him seeing become so passionately concerned. After a few moments, Amelia watched him fall forward, pick up his pen again, and resume his writing again.

"You and Mary," he began again, very harden and distant. "What happened to you and Mary in the accident."

The change in the colonel's behavior put a heavy feeling in Amelia heart. Soft to hard reminded her of someone.

"Mary suffered, more or less, from the emotional trauma of the accident...A few cuts and scrapes, and the sensation of being flipped over a dozen times or so. She was in a state of panic due to the sight of...the enemy in the road," she lied. Amelia's mind envisioned the inside of the jeep, Mary cowering in the corner and reluctant to leave the jeep, and herself becoming frustrated as she began acting like a child. "Mary was a trooper in assisting me with the Private. She push aside her fear and helped with the solider."

Nodding vacantly, the colonel wrote down her words, his eyes never shifting from the papers.

"And what about you?" he said after a few scribbles. His eyes met hers, kindly seeking her truth. "Throughout the duration of your statement, I haven't heard you speak a word about yourself."

Amelia met his soft, yet domineering gaze as she thought about his implications; he was catching on to the conservative and reserved nature of her responses, and it struck the slightest fear in her heart. However the soft gaze of his eyes told her something complete different—to shed the modesty and that it was okay to talk about herself. He seemed just as genuinely concerned as that chaplain had been, but Amelia couldn't find it in herself to relay the truth to him as she had with the chaplain. The colonel seemed like a kind man who cared, and who may or may not understand her reasons for lying, but she didn't have that feeling of trust and couldn't confess.

"I am...okay. Apart from a pulsing margin...I feel fine."

Her response was less than satisfactory, however the colonel didn't press her about it anymore seeing a mule sit before him. He sighed and set down his pen. "Alright, lieutenant " he said, still keeping himself distant from emotions. "Let's call it a night. Your statement is sufficient enough to file the report...I'll speak with Mary tomorrow, and have Pt. Rogers's statement sent over from Tokyo General."

He sighed again, and lightly tossed his glasses on his desk. He stood, rubbing his eyes, and came around the his desk. Amelia had stood and turned, and felt his arm slung around her back, his palming resting in the middle of her back, guiding her through his office doors and to the doors that led outside, and before Amelia could slipped in the night, he stopped her in the doorway.

"One more thing before you go."

Amelia stopped and turned in the doorway just a few inches from the colonel, this sudden fear raising in her stomach.

"I want the truth about the Major. . . . In our last meeting you were as quiet as a lightning bug, but as obvious as its bright butt...You weren't fooling me about those short, 'yes, sir' responses. When you're trying to avoid the heat, don't add more gasoline to the fire," he said implying that that was her scheme to avoid anymore conflict. "Now, Lieutenant. I can see you one smart cookie, but I'm still in charge of this bakery here, and I want to the truth."

Amelia met the gaze of the colonel. His eyes were wearied and worn, and had seen too much war for one man to see; they were searching hers, soft but very dominating. A fear arose in Amelia's belly as Colonel George S. Turner flashed in her mind. What if Colonel Potter was the same kind of man? He said the colonel and him went way back. What if him and Colonel Turner had the same strict rules, yet corrupt ways of doing things. Amelia suddenly felt very anxious and wanted nothing more than to leave his presence...She didn't want to deliberately enrage his temper in fear of his reaction...She retold him the excepted truth; the chaplain's words in the back of her mind.

"I wasn't myself colonel. I deeply regret my accusements against Major Houlihan. It was petty and I jumped to conclusions before I had any right to. I'll be more than happy to put this—" Amelia wanted to say 'stupid non-sense' as she had with the chaplain, but swallowed those particular words down her throat. "Incident to rest. I'll make amends with the Major tomorrow."

The colonel brought his hand up and rested it on her shoulder, of which made Amelia flinch, but not enough that the colonel noticed. She only relaxed slightly as she realized he meant to give her shoulder a few encouraging pats.

"Let's make all this water under the bridge. Okay, Lieutenant, sleep well night."

Amelia nodded and was relieved to slip away from him, but she didn't get two steps away from him when she heard him again. She inwardly cringed, but forced a smile and turned around.

"Oh, Amelia," he said. "Almost forget to tell the birthday girl about her surprise party of sorts...We're having a little party in the Officer's Club. We'd love to get to know Amelia Ryan."

Amelia's reaction was almost too hesitant to be deemed believable, but she replied, "Sure, maybe in a bit. I haven't had time to really settle in my bunk yet."

Although Amelia gave the impression she was going to be stopping by, she had no intention of coming. Amelia watched the colonel smile and disappear back into the offices.

A horrible feeling settled deep in Amelia's heart—many horrible scenarios coming to mind about Colonel Potter. She would avoid that man to the best of her abilities although that would prove considerably difficult as he'd be overseeing her duties as a nurse and would be watching over her with a critical eye...much like Colonel Turner had as he had wanted to find any excuse to punish her.

Amelia's exhausted conscious propelled her across the compound, down the road, and into a little establishment that washed away sorrows—Rosie's Bar. Amelia was only an occasional drinker and never allowed her pain to overpower her sense of mind, but only just enough to numb her senses. She had ordered a beer, and sipped on it between memories—memories of home and basic training—wanting each one to be washed away by the alcohol.

_"What the hell is this about!? Medical school? I bet that costs a dam pretty penny!? You're not going!" yelled her father after she had confessed she had been deceiving him, telling him rather than going to work she had been actually taking classes at the hospital. "How are you suppose...to support me...if—if your not making any money!" _

_Amelia knew this wasn't the time to tell her father about this, but he had found her hospital identification card in her coat and was demanding the truth. He was drunk and staggering about, but that never stopped his ability to punish. He had snapped up her throat in his hands and forced her against the wall, demanding her to quit the classes and support him. _

_"How dare you deceive me!" he screamed and brought his hands across her cheek._

The envisioned slap brought Amelia back to reality. She slightly flinched against the mental thought and absent-mindedly brought the beer to her lips, taking a large swig— attempting to drain that memory. She relaxed against her elbows, her fists balled-up against their forehead, and closed her eyes to the next incoming memory.

_"My name is Colonel George S. Turner. I am the commanding officer at this out-post, however you lucky ladies have the privilege of having me as your senior drill instructor...From here on forth, you will only speak when spoken to, promptly followed by a 'sir, yes, sir' or 'sir, no, sir' ...I am going to break you down,...stripe away your personal "feelings", and mold you in the model solider...I will not tolerate whining! crying! or insubordinate misconduct! I believe women have no place in war—and I will not treat you like one—you are men! Soldiers—preparing to die for your country. And you will have to prove yourselves to me. Have I made myself clear!"_

_"Sir, yes, sir," the company of nurses said in unison._

_"I'm sorry? But I think I've gone deaf—have I made myself clear!"_

_"Sir, yes, sir!" they repeated louder._

Amelia took another swig of beer, finding the bottle empty, and ordered another one.

_"What's your name solider!" spat her drill instructor. He had come to be inches in front of her face, his hands planted firming on his hips and his eyes narrowed on her._

_"Sir, Amelia Ryan, sir," she said flinching as he pointed his face in hers, but held her gaze against his._

_"Do I make you nervous?"_

_"Sir, no, sir," she answered automatically._

_"No?" He leaned back and put his hands behind his back. He eyed her with a curious gaze, then turned away and continued down the line of women. He stopped on another nurse._

_"What's your name solider!" spat their drill instructor again, coming up on another woman as he had with Amelia._

_"Sir, Mary Baker, s-sir," she said completely terrified._

_"Do I make you nervous?"_

_"Sir?" _

_"Good," he sang. He came back to Amelia and stared at her pointedly as he addressed the company of nurse. "You're all mine for the next ten weeks of the hardest physical and mental endurance of your lives. Before you leave you will respect me and fear me...I own you now," he said looking directly at Amelia._

Amelia had allowed her head to slip between her hands and rest on her arm, and she had fallen in a light trance—just teasing the pleasures of sleep...Amelia had drank only a few beers until she called it a night and made her way back to the unit. Amelia wasn't drunk or even showing any signs she had been drinking—she had learned from early age to hold and control her liquor—but her mind was certainly numb from all emotions. It must had only been eleven or twelve when she became walking across the middle of the compound and she could hear piano music and singing, following by an erotic eruption of cheering and clapping. In Amelia's current mood, she rolled her eyes and wanted to ignore the chipper atmosphere.

Amelia cut through the road, and made her way right passed the chaplain's door to the nurses' tent. She had been looking behind her and wasn't quick enough to react the opening door. Amelia had been just inches from the swing of the door when it opened, and slammed into her face.

Amelia cringed against the sudden pain and cupped her nose in her hands, blood oozing between her fingers. The person who had opened the door heard a yelp and come around the door, his eyes becoming wide with concern.

"Oh my—I'm so sorry. Here let me help you," said the chaplain when he realized what he had done. He had been holding a handful of sheet music and had burst through the door so excited to get back to the officer's club that he apparently had smack Lt. Ryan in her face with his door. . . . Seeing the bleeding woman propelled him into action and he was pushing her inside his tent before he could make sense of his actions. He should have guided her to Pre-op, but he had this unrelenting desire to fix what he had broken and wanted to help her himself.

And before Amelia could protest, he was ushering her inside his tent again for the second time that night. . . . The chaplain lightly pushed her down on his cot and turned away from her, moving frantically about his personals, looking or trying to find something—Amelia couldn't be sure as she tilted her head back, her vision limited to the canvas ceiling. She pinched her nostrils together trying to stop the blood. Her face and neck were already covered in blood as the alcohol had thinned her blood considerably.

The chaplain gathered a few white cloths he would normal;y use for service, but he needed water—his mind immediately went to holy water and soaked the cloth with it. He came back the woman sitting in his cot and the sight of her momentarily stopped him—his mind flashing back to two nights ago when Amelia had been covered in blood and when she clang tightly to him . . . He forced those cruel images from his mind and sat besides her. And without her consensus, he pulled her own hands from her nose and held the wet cloth against her face, and listen to her moan with pleasure.

With his gentle touch against her skin, Amelia shifted her eyes to his; they were fixated on the cloth in his hands, attentively aware of the motions against her skin, but unaware of her eyes on him. It was as if time stood still and they were stuck in that exact moment in time—this feeling was strange and unfamiliar and Amelia didn't like it, but she couldn't bring herself to slap his hand away and walk out the door. She would normally never allow anymore to touch her unless absolutely necessary and this wasn't absolutely necessary, but there was something alluring about the way he tended to her—something sensual and impassioned.

Finally, after several minutes of unspoken silence and letting him wipe the blood from her face and neck, he softly said, bringing down the bloody cloth. "There."

"Thank you," she said softly, a hint of the faintest smirk across her lips. "For both inflicting the pain upon me and then alleviating it one frantic swing."

Amelia watched him blush profusely and looking away sheepishly, and she couldn't help herself from smiling at his discomfort.

"I'm sorry I've caused you this unnecessary pain. I feel awe—"

"Don't think too much more about it, alright."

She stood and he promptly followed. She could sense some sort-of disappointment in him as she edged toward the doorway, cutting their interaction short again. The chaplain always seemed to catch her at a time that she didn't want to talk, but when she stopped and turned towards him, she saw the sightliest light of hope flicker in his eyes.

"And thank you for...about the night—"

"Of course," he replied quickly, seeing the hesitation and the difficulty she was having expressing herself. He understood she meant to thank him for his assistance that night two nights ago, and saw the hurt in her eyes as she tried. He wouldn't force her to express herself unless she was comfortable and did it naturally—he would be here for her when she was ready to talk. "Don't think too much more about it, okay?"

The chaplain watched a blush crept down her cheeks as he repeated her words. He was the one finally grinning at her.

"Good night, Amelia, and sweet dreams to you, too."

His voice was soft and sensual, and Amelia couldn't help but glance over her shoulder as she stepped out the door. The door closed the on the blushing priest as he realized just how sensual his statement had been. He was holding up his hand to take back what he had said, but the door had shut before he could. Amelia couldn't suppress her smile as she had just witnessed the priest fumbling for his words. Perhaps he was a little more innocent than Amelia gave him credit for.

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

**Author's notes: **I am very ecstatic to see Father Mulcahy fanfiction really popping right now—it's exciting to see people express their thoughts and fantasies about him. *wink-wink* . . . Sorry about the delayed update. I didn't mean to update so late—reality has been a little too much for me lately and took me from my writing. . . . I want to thank my gracious loyal readers—including those who read and don't review. I thank you too. ;) But thanks to those people who have reviewed, alerted, or favorited the story It's so appreciated and loved. You make my world go round with an extra kick of bliss. Thanks for keeping with and let me know you thought.


	7. Amusements & Perversion

FLASH FORWARD

_"What do you want to do today?"_

_"Nothing if it means you have to leave my arms." _

_She smiled and kissed his nose, and re-curled herself back into his arms. _

_He couldn't help but bury his face in the crook of her neck, and inhale the sweet scent of honey and spice she used to wash her dark chocolate locks. He relished her sweet aroma, and placed a soft kiss behind her earlobe, making her cringe with a bittersweet pleasure. He met soft giggles as he continue to kiss and tease her._

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

September 1952

Harsh wind and rain beat down upon the grounds of Fort Ord, California; one of the few army bases primarily used for training new recruits and draftee units preparing to depart to Korea. The fort also held specialized medical facilities with introductory programs, training and preparing new nurses (and doctors) stationing at M.A.S.H units in various subjects of first aid, surgical equipment and procedures, administrating medicines and medications, and recognizing indigenous diseases; all things a nurse may encounter in the atmosphere of warfare. And along side their professional duties, they would be taught physical and mental endurances of war—to cope with the demanding and stressful conditions endured under warfare nursing.

After Amelia had finished her internship at York General, she received her nursing certificate qualifying her to work in any medical establishment around the state of New York. However Amelia had overheard from a chatty pair of women in a coffee shop, that the A.N.C. (Army Nurse Corps) was in desperate need of an influx of volunteer nurses, (considering there was no mandate-draft system for women or nurses) and that they were recruiting nurses for double of what they could make with residency in a hospital. From those chatty women, Amelia took all the information they could spare about the A.N.C's plead, and signed up immediately at the nearest recruiting office.

Amelia knew this was her one and only chance to raise above and escape from the hole her family had been condemned to rot in—to take her sister away from the erotic and violent behavior of their father—to save her sister from a lifetime of misery and pain as she had lived. . . . Amelia knew this would take her away from her sister, but without this financial gain they couldn't move forward—they wouldn't be able to live without it.

"We have the ability to change our own destinies," Amelia had pleaded with her younger sister, Nancy, when she had first told her about joining the army. "And I am going to make this sacrifice for us, Nancy. . . . Please try to understand, baby, this is for our future. I promise to take you away from here—"

"But what if you don't come back—what if you die! You'd leave me with _him_!"

Nancy had taken the news badly, and didn't speak to Amelia for days. She shut herself in her room, and cried—and pleaded to God for help and guidance. She asked God to help Amelia see reason why her leaving was a horrible idea. . . .But God must not have heard, for Amelia said good-bye a few days later.

Amelia had left on bad-terms, but knew Nancy would eventually come around—she knew she was just as strong as she.

Amelia purchased a one-way, cross-country bus ticket to San Francisco, where there after she would be bused to Fort Ord; the facility where she would be trained and prepared as an army nurse. The travel nearly emptied her life-savings apart from a few dollars, and she thanked Nancy's God for delivering her safely—though with barely enough money to buy but one meal over the course of the bus ride. And again for the fact that she would be clothed and feed in the training facilities, and wouldn't be needing the few dollars left in her pockets.

Amelia arrived at Fort Ord in early September, and began her training underneath Chief Nurse Major Wilma Jenkins and Senior drill instructor Colonel George S. Turner. . . . Amelia took an immediately liking to Major Jenkins. She was a crafty, but hilarious old woman, who was very fond of unusual cliches—and Amelia adored and respected the old nurse. And most unlike Major Jenkins was Colonel George S. Turner—Amelia immediately got on his shit list, and was there after doomed to his bad temper. Amelia thought he was real son of a bitch.

There was no question as he had established his dominance (and his qualification as a true son of a bitch) over Amelia two weeks into her training. . . .

Harsh wind and rain beat down upon the grounds as a nasty thunder and lightning storm had swept over the fort, flooding the entire grounds with rain and mud. It called to a halt all training exercises and an early lights-out for the draftees; except for one particular drill instructor and his recruit.

"Move it! recruit! Down on the ground and give me fifty!" thundered his voice over the vacant grounds of Fort Ord, in the darkness that was that night.

Amelia was surging with pent-up rage as she reluctantly obey his command, but she was determined to never lose her dignity or surrender to his merit. She sunk into the water and mud, and positioned herself into a push-up formation; the rain already soaked though her uniform and her hair already matted to her face.

"Count your strides and begin on my mark, . . . " he paused, watching her already struggling in the air as she held her position. Her weakness, physically, amused him, and he chuckled, "time."

"One . . .two . . . three . . . "

"Ryan your attitude has been plague on my life—so I am going to return the favor," the colonel began rather softly, but his voice was very condescending as he circled around her heaving body, his trusty riding crop stick underneath his armpit; always ready to strike—always unexpected. "I am the strictest instructor here, and you're going to learn just how cruel I can be. You gonna hate me—before you love me."

"Eight—I've already have a head start on that, sir, . . . nine—"

Amelia was plunged to the ground, her face becoming caked with mud as the colonel had slammed his boot down her back, forcing her into the mud and water. Amelia remained lying in mud as that abrupt force to her body created an uneasiness in her chest. After a few moments, she pulled herself up onto her hands and knees with the intention of propping herself back onto her knees to wipe away the mud covering her eyes and mouth, but the colonel had squatted in front of her and whip his riding crop stick under her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his.

"You're going to fear me Ryan—mark my words. By the end of this training program I'll have you cringing at the mere sight of me . . . so you better learn how to respect me—or receive the punishment for in-suburbanite misconduct. . . . Which is it Ryan? Sink or swim?"

Amelia sucked her cheek between her teeth and bit down, suppressing that all too familiar rush of adrenaline—this tactic of intimidation was infuriating and degrading. Amelia had too much pride to give in to the easy temptation with every one of her impulses raging to strike or lash him, but she bite her cheek and remained silent, her hands shaking with a smoldering rage.

The colonel smirked triumphantly, and remarked, "Good. Now that I have your undivided attention and at the heel of my mercy, you'll listen—eagerly to what I have to offer."

The colonel had her resume her push-ups in the mud as he circled around her like a voucher. He ranted on about certain qualities one excepted from an army nurse—bravery, courage, intelligence, a presentable appearance; none of which included Amelia's attitude. He said you do what you are told to do—no questions asked. Amelia couldn't help but remark a sarcasm retort, and then was promptly pushed down into the mud.

It was a never-ending circuit—his rage fueled her defiance, and her defiance fueled his rage. Neither one would surrender their dignity, and the battle raged on in the pouring rain.

"Thirty-nine . . . Forty . . . Forty-one . . ."

"You call those push-ups Ryan! Get that ass down!" yelled the colonel, and slammed his foot down on her back again, and forced Amelia down into the mud. When the colonel didn't let up on his foot, Amelia began to squirm underneath his weight as her face plunged into the water and mud beginning to suffocate. "You hick that ass of yours in the air again, and you'll owe me another fifty push-ups."

Colonel Turner released his weight off her back, causing Amelia to promptly pop up gasping and choking for air. She spit and choke out water and mud. Her arms ached and spasmed as she pushed herself up from the ground. She was about to push off the ground to lean on her knees, but her arm gave away, and she collapsed back into the mud. She was literally spent—her arms spasming, her legs weak, and her head becoming light and dizzy; she was ashamed to beg, but she had no longer had any strength left in her arms—he was going break her until she beg.

"You're going to finish these god-damned push-ups Ryan! if it takes all night."

Amelia whimpered and cringed against a sudden sharp against her ass, and her eyes shot over her shoulder to see his crop stick recoiling from her. He had whip her.

"Get up Ryan!" When she didn't move, he brought his crop stick against her ass again. She flinched, and cried out as he hit the same place as the first.

"You son of a bitch!" she cried again, and covered cupped the pain on her ass.

"Don't give me lip Ryan," he said, and whipped her in an area she wasn't shielding. He was met with another involuntary cry—the sweet sound of her dignity crumbling in his hand as she pleaded with him to stop.

"Nine more Ryan. Finish. Now. "

Amelia was utterly exhausted, and inwardly cursed that son of a bitch and denounced every fiber of that fucking asshole, but she struggled to her knees. Amelia clenched her jaw tight, knowing and fearing the pain she faced.

She remained silence for the rest of her punishment. She plunged into the mud every time, unable to support her weight in the air, and then would struggle to push herself up again—but every time she would regain her composure and set her back straight again. And with each fall he rewarded her with a strike of his crop stick on her ass.

" . . . Fifty—"

Amelia finished and collapsed into the mud. The colonel came back around and stuck his crop stick underneath her chin again, forcing her eyes to meet his again.  
"Don't step out of line with again, Ryan. . . .This was nothing compared to what I could have done to you. . . "

_Whip. Mud. Struggle. Whip. Mud. Bang. Whip. Bang. Bangbangbang!_

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

Present Time—November 1952

Amelia sprung forward from her pillow—she wasn't able to control the slight tremble in her chest as she abruptly awoke from the surrealistic nightmare. It put a horrible heavy feeling in her chest like a knife was slowly being inserted into her heart, and she cupped her hand over her heart. A cold sweat had reigned over her body, and she begin to shake as the winter's air closed in around her. She let herself fall back on her pillows, an arm bent over her eyes as she relaxed only slightly back into her bed.

_Bangbangbang! _

Amelia realized that that loud rapping noise from somewhere beyond her dream must have been the someone knocking on the door, and what must had been what thankfully awoke her from the nightmare. Her head split in two as there came another loud set of rapping noise—a migraine from the assumption of alcohol on an exhausted mind—something she knew happened every time, but the effects out weighed the side-effects. But _they_ had driven her to drink—this tight-knit dysfunctional family of the 4077th.

At last, perceiving the knocker so utterly content and impatient with the rapturous knocking, and seemingly so confidently aware of her—or someone's presences in the vacated tent after keeping with the infuriating banging so long after no response, Amelia concluded pretending 'nobody's home' wasn't going to work, and called out to the knocker annoyed:

"Enter, _at your own risk_." Her last words were drowned out by a man's pestering cheery voice as he promptly stepped through the door.

"Goooood morning my fearless warrior. The sun is shining, the skies are blue, and Major Houlihan is in the mess tent if you wanna ruffle a few of her feathers again."

Amelia chuckled humorlessly as she sat forward and threw her legs over the cot, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Oh, Klinger, . . . have I forever been condemned to the association with the major—and my now, regrettable, mis-speech of words or rather my poor choice in words. . . . Perhaps I should have picked another synonym." Amelia smiled, and shook her head. "And if so—I may have to off myself before this tight-kit family does—"

The miniscule tenderness she had had for the hairy company clerk (brought forth by his enthusiastic introduction and happy regards for her coral with the major), and having but said one word to him to pryer to this, amplitude immensely as her eyes shifted over his attire; his spinning image everything her attitude towards the army represented—rebellion and sticking it to the man. Amelia's mood lightened immediately as her sights finally set upon a white floral dress, matching white gloves, heels , and a hat, and more importantly—hairy tan arms. And Amelia, only having known him for three days, felt an unusual pride for her kind (the rebels). She had seen many smart-asses, pranksters, and idiotic stuns pulled—all gunning for a section eight, but this man was the diamond in the rough.

"You look very charming, my hairy friend," she remarked genuinely as she stood and took his gloved hand.

"Why thank you," he sang upon hearing her enthusiasm, and slowly began to twirl, showcasing the dress' defining feature. "You don't think it makes my butt look too big?"

Amelia couldn't suppress her amusement and laughed as he aimed his backside towards her, arching his back and popping out his butt.

"I don't now if it's just the puffiness of the dress or my butt . . . " He turned back around to see her fighting a smile. "So that's what you look like when you smile—I didn't think it possible."

It was evident that he was trying to cheer her up with his dramatic performance and Amelia was very appreciative of his thoughtfulness. But the dramatics died away, and Amelia slumped back down her cot.

"So where is everyone?" Amelia had noticed the empty bunks and loud noises outside the tent.

"Huh?" he said still a little enthralled about this dress. "Oh, yay . . . Everyone was at Father Mulcahy's service this morning. And boy did everyone flock to when they heard that sweet sounding piano. Did you hear it?" Amelia shot him a knowingly look. "Apparently not. But boy was it one of Father Mulcahy's best services yet! Him and that Mary Baker are sure an unbeatable team! Sure enough once she started playing, people were cramming themselves in to get a seat. That Mary Baker is so kind and nice, sure has that magic touch—Even Charles Winchester was impressed and praised her for her musical talents. . . ."

The miniscule happiness that had resided was now gone. Amelia inwardly cringed as she heard Mary Baker's name repeated with such praise. . . . The frustration she had felt trying to get Mary out of the jeep flared inside her and she was reminded that every minute she had spent whining and crying was a minute against the Private Rogers' life. She knew it was unfair to hold that against her, but she wondered what Mary Baker was even doing in the army with her light stomach. And if she heard another word about the chaplain and Mary Baker she was going to be sick.

"Alright, Klinger, enough about—that. . . . Why have you come?"

"Oh, here you are," he said, suddenly remembering the initial reason to stop by. "One freshly pressed olive-drab duffel bag—clothes and items included. And one army issued olive-drab coat, x-may the blood."

Klinger's heart fluttered with compassion as he watched a visible sign of relief sweep across her face as she was once again reunited with her belongings that had been left behind in the crashed jeep. He handed her the bag with a new appreciation for her and her self-being. _Maybe we all were too quick to judge,_ he thought as he watched her set the bag down on her cot and begin to rummage through it for something in particular and pull out what appeared to be a wallet-sized picture of someone.

"Whose that," he asked as he came to stand beside her.

Amelia remained silent, looking sadly down at the picture, her thumb grazing the surface affectionately. She faced an internal struggle on whether or not she wanted to reveal an imitate detail of her life, having made a promise to never to so to anyone, but with his new status of appreciation, she couldn't help but yield to his adorability. And at last, in an almost inaudible whisper as she was reminded of how she left, she spoke:

"My younger sister, Nancy. . . she's sixteen."

Sensing the difficulty Amelia was having, Klinger nodded softly, and replied, "Well, she's a looker. Mom and Pap must be proud."

At the mention of parents, Amelia recoiled away from Klinger and replaced the picture back into the duffel bag.

"Is there anything else you need?"

Klinger's brows knitted together at her sudden change of subject, and frowned, wondering about it. "Oh, no, just thought you'd like your things."

It seemed when Amelia's personal life was in conversation too deeply, she recoiled and put up a barrier. And as he turned to leave, seeing the emotional turn of the conversation was taking, Amelia stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, and forced a warm smile. "Thank you Klinger."

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

The air had warmed considerably as noon ascended over the 4077th, and what had been left of the blizzard snow finally melted away. . . .That eccentric service man who had lead them into the Seoul Headquarters had been right: 'This is Korea's weather for ya! Just wait until tomorrow when it's blue skies and green pastures. Ya, it'll throw ya for a loop.'

After Klinger had left, Amelia had unpacked her belongings from the duffel back, and finally settled into her bunk. She was still exhausted and wanted to fall back asleep, but she knew she needed to adjust to her schedule, and force herself to stay awake. What she needed was a cold shower.

Amelia began slipping off her layers she had put on during the cold night; her thin jacket, her army pants, and extra socks and layers. She rummaged through her bag and pulled out a full body pair of longs johns, and slipped them on. She hadn't brought along a bathrobe, of which she made a note to buy as soon as pay day rolled around, and neither did she want to walk across the compound in nothing but a towel wrapped her body—so the pair of long johns was all she had. Although, as she slipped them on, she realized they weren't going to be covering her body either. She could barely clasp the buttons at the top—they must have shrank when Klinger dropped her duffel bag of clothes off at the washers. The messed fabric clang and hugged every curve of her body—except her breast as they pop out every time she inhaled.

_Shit, _she thought as she knew she wasn't getting across that compound without being noticed. _Just my fucking luck—just keep getting buried underneath stupidity and life. _But nonetheless slipped on her army boots, laces untied and loose, and grabbed a towel. Before she stepped out of the tent, she ripped her hair from the tight bun, and a spray of snarly brown waves fell over her shoulders. She ran her fingers over her head, rubbing and scratching the pain away, and relished the pleasure after releasing the tension from a tight bun.

She didn't care if she looked unkept or exhausted or messy. She didn't care to make herself look presentable or pretty as she had observed with the other nurses. She didn't care what others thoughts or opinions were. She would keep to herself and hopefully they would kept out from hers. She wasn't here to make friends; just do her work and earn a paycheck.

Amelia stepped outside the nurse's tent, her eyes immediately searching for the shower tent; to her dismay she spotted it all the way across the compound—past the mess tent and the 'swamp' as she had come to learn, where womanizing Pierce, Charles Winchester, and B.J. Hunnicutt resided. She sighed defeated as she realized she was never getting across this compound without being noticed, but nonetheless straightened her back and started across the compound.

A few servicemen and woman were walking about the compound, not taking notice to her—thankfully, but when she neared to the mess tent she realized there must had been a late Sunday service and could hear muffled piano music. _Christ,_ she thought as she realized she was going to have to walk by a tent full of people, but to her relief the music stopped and people began to empty out of the tent. Amelia slowed her pace so they would dissipate before she would have to across by.

Amelia ducked by the mess tent and started to the other side, but before she got too far from the mess tent, she hear her name yelled behind her.

"Lieutenant Ryan!?"

The voice was soft and insecure, as if the person didn't know whether her to be the lieutenant for sure. And Amelia didn't have to see the person to know who beckoned for her. His soft spoken and sweet natured voice was very distinct, and even a little boyish—charming in that aspect, of which swept Amelia underneath his boyish charm. . . . And thinking about his naive and innocent demeanor, Amelia couldn't but help smile to herself when she realized she was going to be approaching him in this provocative attire. . . . She knew what was to become of their conversation; his natural concern for her well-being, especially after the little incident with his door, he would ask how she was.

It was a twisted perversion, she thought as she turned around in the middle of the compound, and made her way to the chaplain beckoning her by the mess tent, but there was something about him and him being a priest that was forbidden and tempting. . . . His discomfort was amusing—not in any sense of demeaning his delicate nature, but rather warming and enticing. He striked her curiosity.

She approached him, not like the last time when he had called on her last night to discuss Lt. Benson and the major, irritated and impatient, but with a little glint in her eye that teased any man who saw. Her perverse mind wanted to see him squirm.

"Lu—lu—lieutenant Ryan!?" he stammered nervously as his body involuntarily began to fidget when he realized he had just called over the lieutenant in such a state. Though he consciously tried to hide his flustered and embarrassed manner by pretending—acting as though her attire hadn't caught his attention. His eyes never faulted below her lips as he, discreetly as possible, tried to avoid from accidentally looking down.

Amelia watched his internal and external battle with a deviant delight as his eyes stared cautiously at her. She had to bite her bottom lip from giggling at his embarrassed behavior. She could watch him all day, but after a few awkward moments (for him, not her) of him opening his mouth and then shutting in the same breath, apparently unable to vocalize his thoughts, or perhaps didn't want to accidentally say something wrong, Amelia licked her lips, and said rather teasingly:

"Yes John? Is there something you wanted to speak to me about? . . . Because I was just on my way to take a shower and—"

"Yes," he replied quickly, feeling like he was keeping her from something and didn't want to intrude on her time any longer than he needed—as if saying it faster, it would relief his guilt faster. "I just wanted to—I mean—to know—I mean to know about your curves—nose—I mean . . . "

The chaplain could have slapped himself in the back of his head for being unable to control himself and his stammering speech. _What is wrong with me_, he thought as he tried to composed himself, letting his eyes closed for a moment. He felt like a babbling fool—and worst like a nervous teenager. He hadn't been excepting that attire on her and certainly wouldn't have called her over if he had known. He opened them, his eyes first flickering to the lieutenant's smiling lips. _She is laughing at me . . ._ he thought, but he realized, _no she was amused with me_, as her brows knitted together in compassion. _No, she felt sorry for me._

"I seem to have a frog stuck in my throat. . . . What I mean to say is: How are you?" His voice had become calm and under his control again, and he sighed in relief as he finally spoke what he originally had intended. He had flushed as white as a sheet, and his burning cheeks really were defined as his entire attire was a white robe and a pale face. He looked like a blushing ghost.

Amelia bit her lip again with a twisted curiosity, and relied, "It's a bit tender—my nose, I mean. And as for myself—I am alright, now." She smirked, and let for eyes flicker over his person—just for added dramatics to make him aware it was his discomfort that made her 'alright'.

The chaplain blushed even harder as he watched the lieutenant's eyes defiled his body with curiosity. _What is she playing at,_ he thought as her eyes finally connected back with his. There was definitely a hidden motive in her mind, and for some reason he found himself intrigued and curious about her. The little glint in her eye was interesting. And he wondered why she kept using his first name instead of his title of Father like everyone else. There was so many though-provoking aspects of this woman that he wanted know.

And Amelia could see the wheels beginning to turn in his head as she continued to stare him. But she couldn't help it. He had awakened something in her that she had forgotten about a long time ago. And there was this enticing little shy smile on his face that tempted Amelia to push the chaplain a little further out of his comfort zone.

"So John," she began, biting her lip again to suppress the visible pleasure she was getting out of making him nervous.

And he listened intently as she said his name in a kind of teasing manner.

"I hear you had an ex—"

"My, my, _myyyy_, would you look at this slice of heavenly _pie_—what a sight for my sore _eye_."

Upon hearing the ridged pick-up line, Amelia shifted her eyes over Doctor Pierce, of who strolled out of the mess tent and wrapped an encouraging arm around the chaplain's shoulder, where unlike the chaplain, his eyes never faulted away from her neckline. He chuckled impishly and gave the chaplain a 'nudge', of who looked almost terrified when Hawkeye winked at him, inferring to some kind of sexual innuendo. He blushed even harder when he added, "has our lovely little chaplain recruited another chorus girl—if so, Father, you can except me front row at every Sunday service."

Doctor Pierce had that low growl-chuckle in his voice as he laughed at his own joke. And if silence and irritation from both the chaplain and Amelia wasn't enough for him to get a clue, he added: "Hey babe that's a nice outfit you got on there, . . . can I talk you out of it."

Amelia rolled her eyes at his pathetic pick-up lines and an irritated frown formed on her lips as the womanizing doctor interrupted her conversation with the chaplain. Although admittingly, she was subjugating to the chaplain to the same perversion, but at least she kept it to thought and not action. And Amelia noticed the chaplain looked uncomfortable in the doctor's embrace as he used him for a leaning post to hit on her.

"Huh, I think I hear Mary—ah Lieutenant Baker," he correct himself quickly, sensing the inappropriateness of the atmosphere. "Calling for me. Please excuse please—" He mentally kicked himself as he nervously tripped over his tongue again, and escaped his embarrassment quickly disappearing back into the mess tent.

"Love a guy when he knows he's the third wheel and promptly leaves . . . "

Amelia rolled her eyes again in disbelief—_He doesn't quit does he!?_ But she ignored him as her eyes followed after the chaplain. He had walked to Mary and stood besides her, shifty awkwardly as she talked with Charles Winchester—no doubt about her 'musical talents' . . . He looked sad and much like the third wheel Dr. Pierce described him as. It was evident that he had lied and excused himself merely to escape any further embarrassment—

Her sight become blurred with green-olive, and realized Dr. Pierce had stepped in front her line of sight. Amelia sighed exhaustively, and remarked with an edgy tone:

"Your eight-grade pick-up lines aren't going to work with me, babe. So quit while your head, and save yourself some rejection."

Her saucy retort seemed to enthrall his efforts rather than discourage them, and he replied with his impish chuckle, "I like a sassy-girl . . . so you headin' to the showers. I'm a environmentalist baby, and uh, we could save some water if we took one together."

Amelia scuffed out a breath, "You're absolutely impressed with yourself, aren't you!? Has that line ever work?"

He chuckled, and replied triumphantly: "Her," he nudged his head behind Amelia indicating the red-head woman walking across the compound. "And her," this time to a thin, long blonde. "And ah, her."

It seemed the only way she was going to dowse this flame he had for her, not with water and rejection, but more fire and torment. She smiled like that was most beautifulest thing she had ever heard, and pretended to be swept blinding underneath his childish charm.

"Oh, so you do have a way with the ladies," she said teasingly, and stepped close enough so her breast brushed against his chest. He laughed devilishly, and followed her 'lead'—it was amusing to Amelia that he _actually_ thought his charm to seduce her was working on her.

He 'casually' hovered his hands over her hips, 'accidentally' brushing them when he shifted weight. "I am quite the ladies man."

"Hmm," she hummed in her throat, making him think of possible possible doubt. "I don't now if I can just take your word for it."

"Well, I wouldn't mind giving you a _personal_ demonstration."

Amelia giggled devilishly like he did, and suddenly clenched his shirt in her hand, and pulled him to her level, and whispered in his ear an undeniable haunting voice: "I would like that, but—and don't feel bad baby, you wouldn't be able to handle me."

It was as if time stood still again. Amelia happened to flick her eyes over his shoulder, focusing beyond the mess netting, through the haze, and directly to the chaplain, who also happen to be meeting her gaze. He had been fiddling with some papers at his podium when his eyes flickered curiously over to Dr. Pierce and her—finding the two of them very close and in what appeared to be an imitate embrace. And for that moment, after Amelia had delivered that enticing line into Dr Pierce's ear, their eyes met and held for a conscious second, (both thinking what the other may have been thinking) . . . before his eyes flickered away and he fidgeted out of her sight. It all happened within a snapped of her fingers and he was gone.

After watching the chaplain walk away, Amelia pushed away from the doctor, and started towards the showers again, leaving Dr. Pierce with his mouth gaping open and his eyes following after her, stunned and unfortunately more intrigued and curious than before.

"The more you push me away, the more I want you. . . . you have my heart in the palm of your hand and you're using it like a voodoo doll—your torturing me and you like it, don't you."

As Amelia crossed the compound, and stepped into the shower tent, she had felt two sets of eyes follow after her. Although she had just come from a successful tease off with Doctor Pierce, Amelia couldn't but let her mind wonder to the chaplain. For some reason she couldn't make sense that he striked her curiosity. She didn't know what about him that made her feel like a school-girl again, but his forbidding presence enticed her.

These thoughts about the chaplain rattled her brain for the duration of her shower, but broke as she heard a loud, gritty voice thundered over head:

"Attention! All personal! Incoming wounded! Report to Pre-OP. Sorry Father Mulcahy. But your service is needed in O.R."

* * *

The Forbidden Fruit

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So it seems Amelia is establishing some relationships even though she had no intention of doing so. Hmmm? And thanks to those whose sent me feedback on the last chapter! It always helps propel me into the next chapter. And please excuse any errors I may have missed. And thank you readers and hoped you enjoyed the blushes and the bad pickup lines ;)


End file.
